abandoned tunnel - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The tunnel curled away coldly into infinite dark, the light that showed the rough walls dwindling as it snaked away. My skin shuddered and I could feel my brain starting to defocus, searching for a way out... I should go backwards...up there, to the forest where the paths run in every direction...
The abandoned tunnel had been a drug den and homeless shelter for decades. It's once beautiful arched brick walls were covered in graffiti. The floor was littered with hypodermic needles, broken bottles and sewage. It was populated by the most desperate low-lifes, locked in their own dog-eat-dog existence. No-one in their right mind would go there without a hazmat suit and some serious weaponry. But we needed to get to Mevelton fast and the tunnel would cut right through the mountain, shaving days off the trip. As we stood before it, almost knocked out by the stench, our flashlights shining feebly into the entrance we glanced at one another, pale but resolute. Now or never. Do or die. Everything rested on us.
The only hint of the abandoned tunnel as was a slight rise in the ground, a hillock if you will, but one that was long like an almighty worm had burrowed under the tussocked grass. The local teens had followed it along one day, ipods in ears, hands in pockets, ill equipped in their t-shirts and torn jeans for the storm that was brewing. By the time they reached the end the rain was driving down their necks. They were about to head for home when the wind-tugged bushes revealed the smallest glimpse of the weathered brick arch at the mouth.
Crouched like beaten old men and women they fought their way to the entrance. Once inside the light died like it was being swallowed. The abandoned tunnel smelled of the earth but the floor crunched beneath each footfall and echoed...
The lights flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the tunnel, causing shivers to ripple across my body. I drag my hand across the wall, picking up dust and grime. Wind streams through the tunnel, clutching the scattered pieces of ragged papers, twirling them in the air, only to drop them off into the void. All sign of life has vanished from the tunnels that were once so full of warmth. I peer as I stare at the mangled track beneath my feet. A heinous laugh echoes throughout the tunnel, rebounding off the crumpling walls, and I crumple to the ground in sorrow. Just like the tunnel my soul is too abandoned and then all fades to black and I’m left in eternal darkness.
The abandoned tunnel is like a great grey snake, curving under the masses. A mile up is an exit into the old market place, our destination. Once it was how the drugs were moved incognito, but now we move grains and apples this way to avoid the consumption taxes imposed by the new rulers. Whoever has the most guns takes the "taxes," that's the way it goes. The walls are a grey brick, or perhaps they are another hue, but down here that's the way they look. The bottom is a perfect arc too, but enough mud has been tracked in over time to make it more like walking on a woodland path, that slight softness underfoot. It has an odour like a stagnant pond but with an undercurrent of sewage, but it's not like there are public conveniences down here. It's not a place you want to be caught without a flashlight, that's for sure; but then it's not a place you want to be caught at all.
The tunnel was like a snake skin turned inside out, slinking into the abyss of the hillside. Whoever built it tunnelled for the softest soil, not giving a damn about how straight the line was. In just meters there was no sun from behind, the dark tiles absorbing every ray.
Only the gentrified folk forgot the tunnel, the poor kept it alive in their tall tales of the smugglers, the antiheroes of old. Yet so long had passed since they used it its existence was in danger of passing from legend to myth. It lay unused under the city, not a footstep having echoed within the tiled walls for generations. The ends had become closed off by years of leaves piling up in the autumn winds, now decomposed to a rich soil and supporting much flora.
Rainer entered the old abandoned tunnel, the fading daylight reflected from the radiating black ripples. In a few more weeks it would be too flooded to explore, but for now all it was a stagnant puddle smelling worse than his apartment block dumpster.
The old abandoned tunnel wasn't as high as Rainer was tall, leaving him to stoop into the darkness, one hand on the mildewed tiles. At once he regretted not taking the time to fetch his waterproof boots or better flashlight, his pocket watch failing to illuminate more than the sluggish water at his feet. Every step echoed like a ghostly cry ahead and behind. He was about to turn back when a up ahead came an unnatural green light, almost neon and blinking with robotic precision.