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Stories & Scripts

Source: Adults

Author: Amanda S

Title: Along the Thames

It is a rare thing to see the sun shine brightly on the Thames. I rummage through my bag and grasp my camera from within the depths and start clicking away. The light filters through my lens and washes all the colour away and new London is old again. I find myself back in time, away from the clamour and rattle of the noisy high street where all is silent. The river gleams in my eyes and it is hard to see the tiny glass capsules of the London Eye, which boasts it's ability to show eager tourists the whole view of London from the sky. Little did they know that all London can be viewed rather cheaply at ground level here right upon the River Thames. The sunlit river paths, the overpopulated boat cruises shuttling excited tourists back and forth between Big Ben and St. Paul's Cathedral; between London Bridge and Tower Bridge and alongside the medieval Tower of London.
Then there is a girl. Sitting there, unbeknownst to the tourists, across Big Ben and right in front of myself. She sits in the corner of the frame of my camera, shielding her eyes from the luminous sun, reading a book on a weathered bench. The reflection of the water cast by the river which now has become alight with thousands if not millions of pulsating crystal rays of light--or rather, illuminated dots--which abound the river and jump into her lap. There, she sits and loses focus in what she is reading and looks across at the grandiose gothic-looking shapes of Parliament and the massive clock which rang and when it did, did not disturb the peacefulness witnessed on the river below, but seemed to fit as if in a part of a soundtrack of some film.
Below her, there lay massive puddles from the misty London shower which had occurred mere hours before. In the reflection of the puddle, she saw not only herself but looming dark clouds waiting to overtake the sun. The river began to darken, the sun's power fading and daylight would soon become just another night's dream.
Inch by inch, the light is taken away, stolen from the cobbled path along the water. The once mahogany-brown bench in the sunlight has turned back to bleak and lifeless grey slabs of wood in the new darkness. The immaculately-shaped Victorian lamps in front of me spring to life and light up the way as to try and make up for the lack of natural lighting. The curves and grooves on every evenly-spaced lamp is impressive and I can appreciate these more now that I could when they seemed to be just dull, lifeless antiques. The river never looked dead though; it kept thrashing and splashing, oblivious to the lack os sun, indifferent to the impending darkness. Big Ben chimed again, and the girl got up to leave the bench without a second glance.

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