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mollyemmabarlow

United Kingdom

I am a 16 year old writer seeking opportunities to show off my skills and provide entertainment through the form of words to people all over the globe. One day, I hope to publish my book and aspire, though the chance is small, to be like JK Rowling.

Message to Readers

Please give feedback on this as it is a sensitive subject and I really want to get it right.

Trouble In The Light

November 19, 2015

PROMPT: Open Prompt

0
Once, it was a city filled with joy and love and laughter. Hopeful too; the inhabitants waited eagerly for the possibilites that tomorrow would hold. They waited,for too long, under the Tower of Lights. The Tower of Lights, glorious to the end, powerful and strong; down it came, lights flickering out like the last moments of a flaming torch as it is plunged underwater.

Small, lonely inhabitants aimlessly stumble down the once magnificent streets, trying to find the river, a way out of the hell sent city. A river crying crimson for the loss it has seen. For the sounds of utter terror it has witnessed and never dares to think about again. Littered is the river, filled with the red life of the dead.

Captured like a mouse with a broken back, caught in the metal snares of a horrendous crime commited to the hundreds, the inabitants require a safe haven - somewhere better than the streets of murder they so dearily desire to leave behind. Suffocated by panic, a madness that fights for possession of their mind and makes them feel the terror as if it is scratching their skin, bleeding out any joy they still had.

The Tower of Lights has fallen into darkness; it feels happy no longer. It only watched as bombs lit up the streets it knew so well and bullets stained the inhabitants below with death. It has no reason to light up anymore. It has seen this, heard this and known this was coming. All the stories that keep circulating the front pages of the newspapers. Yet the Tower of Lights was worthless in the defeat of the terror. It only stood, cosumed by darkness, watching on silently and guilty that it couldn't help.

Wistfully, it weeps out any brightness; its cries heard by others, close yet distant. Glimmers of hope - blue, white and red - light up the sides of buildings the Tower of Lights recognises. They may be far away but it can see them. It can see them and its tears change from sorrow to joy. It isn't alone. The Tower of Lights' friends want to help it, get it glowing again - make it proud of glowing and hopeful its light will guide the people below.

There might be hope for the inhabitants that are left to wander the City of Lights, trying to find the Seine, trying to find a way out, trying to find the ones who didn't have time to say goodbye.

For the outsiders, the ones who can't see the death in person but can see it on the TV screens, the bullets and bombs seem so far away. They are locked outside, halted from entering the city that is trying to emerge from the past horrors. They must watch from the sidelines, hoping upon hope that their beloved were not caught in the hellfire. As soon as the City of Lights opens it doors however, they will flood it. They will love the ones left. They will help them find a way out. They will help them say goodbye in any way possible.

For the people of Paris, the family of France, being united and loving and remembering will beat them. Candles and flowers, the memories of the missed, will protect them from the terror outside.

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