Creative Writing Final Piece

Disguised by the cloak of its surrounding vegetation, a stone city lays

inside the hollow cliff face. The green of the jungle’s overgrown

leaves is tinted yellow by the evening sun’s all-seeing light.

Connected only by a series of rotting wood bridges, the village is

other-worldy. I clench the rope handrails, and make the perilous

journey across. 

The buildings look completely different up close. A door is opened, a

deafening creak bounces off the walls of the abandoned dwelling.

I let my gaze wander out one of the few windows. A waterfall, sent by

the heavens, hides the next set of bridges. 

A maze of pitch-black, furnitureless buildings, I have trouble making

my way down. 

I heave my lantern from my backpack. The match resting against my

temple finds its hot rod red edge running against the outsole of my

boot.

The lantern’s pet flame crackles, illuminating the walls and floor.

The colour of fallow, and the texture of old, battle-hardened concrete.
Small rooms, dead ends, window-less dwellings. 

A small wooden door blocks the way forward. A push and a pull, it

doesn't budge. My problem solved by a swift kick, I grumble, and

continue.

I use my bag to shelter my head, and drag my feet through the wall

of water. Wet and miserable, I heaved myself across the next rotting

wood bridge. 

I didn’t even notice the plank break under me.