It was a
quiet morning in the place I call home while studying. The seasons were changing and the autumn
leaves of the trees fell on the ground, creating a sidewalk coloured with the
rich brown and red colours of autumn. The morning sky seemed surreal; the
clouds filled the sky just enough to let the beams of the sun break through
them and cause a beautiful atmosphere. Everything seemed wonderful in this town
and I was feeling positive and excited for the day ahead.
I walked into my room and heard the ear-spitting sounds of the radio. The panic in the radio presenter’s voice was clear and she talked so fast I could barely hear what she was saying. When I looked out of my window, I saw smoke fold over buildings like a blanket around a small child. The smell of the smoke quickly entered my room and it was bitter in my nostrils. I ran outside and to my horror I saw a group of people marching down the street, resembling a colony of ants. I immediately felt the hair on my neck stand up and the feeling of panic inside my body. As the strikers demolished the streets, they were demanding money, more and more money. I couldn’t grasp what was happening. The beautiful and quiet morning broke down into a chaotic destruction.
I walked into my room and heard the ear-spitting sounds of the radio. The panic in the radio presenter’s voice was clear and she talked so fast I could barely hear what she was saying. When I looked out of my window, I saw smoke fold over buildings like a blanket around a small child. The smell of the smoke quickly entered my room and it was bitter in my nostrils. I ran outside and to my horror I saw a group of people marching down the street, resembling a colony of ants. I immediately felt the hair on my neck stand up and the feeling of panic inside my body. As the strikers demolished the streets, they were demanding money, more and more money. I couldn’t grasp what was happening. The beautiful and quiet morning broke down into a chaotic destruction.
 |
| Little antique shop |
The sound of police sirens filled the street and the sound of bullets being fired made my ears ring. The sound of fear entered the streets as people screamed.
When the chaos subsided, I had enough courage to leave the antique shop. When I stepped outside, the images were nauseating. Burned down, black and destroyed buildings were the aftermath of the strike. People still running and children crying was the site I had all the way back to my room.
The following day I read in the newspaper that factory workers caused the riot, because they were unhappy about their salaries. Luckily nobody was seriously injured, but the damage was irreparable.
The images
of the strike will haunt my memory for a long time and the devastation to the
businesses that the strike caused is horrific. I can’t help to wonder how the
strike will affect the economy of the town. Hopefully time will heal the scars
caused by the strike.
LD
LD
 |
| Burned down buildings |
No comments:
Post a Comment