alleyway - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
In the alleyway I can stretch my arms and touch the homes on both sides, these walls build so very long ago. They are not the straight perfection of the modern buildings in the newer areas, but each curve and flaw renders them more beautiful still.
The alleyway is darkness and the sour relics of a hundred take-away meals. As Neal walks between the walls that are too high for him to bother seeking the almost black sky, he kicks the garbage with each stride. As he leaves the street, the lampposts cast his shadow like black over deepest charcoal; by midway it has bled out. From the apartments come noises, not so much as in the daytime but all the louder for the absence of light and the quieter traffic. Soon he notices the yellow beams of the lampposts ahead, without a conscious thought the grip on his bag loosens a little, as does his stride.
Alice walked along the rough cobbled streets that caused her feet to ache. The buildings were tight together and loomed over her, like a forest of stone. When she looked up the roofs were so close together that she could only make out a sliver of the blue sky that was mirrored by the tiny stream of light that trickled along the cold stone ground. The alleyway twisted and turned back on itself, first going to the right, then to the left. From where Alice stood, whether she look in front or behind, she saw nothing but stone.
The alleyway was straight like a drinking straw and almost as narrow; Polly used to joke that it wasn't a place to go walking after a big meal. The sounds of the roads either sides ricochetted from one side to the other and light from the unguarded apartment windows would reflect from the dark brick walls.
The alleyway is quaint and cobbled. The houses each side have walls that wobble ever so slightly, but is apparent in the strong morning light. It winds a little, arcing to the right and the heady scent of flowers drifts down from the many window boxes.
Ben takes a look down the alleyway. He is of course forbidden to use it, and so he wants to. The dark and stinky single block between the backs of the restaurants and the theatres would cut twenty minutes out of his walk to school. After a quick glance over his shoulder and one more to make sure, he leaves the well-lit street for the gloom, feeling his heart quicken.
Every time Alice walked the alleyway she felt as if the houses had been pushed closer together, as if one day she'd come and find only the most narrow of paths to walk down. Saturday morning found her there, trying to temp Mrs Fipp's cat to take a bite of her left over morning kipper, squat to the floor and hardly noticeable amongst the strewn junk.
In the half light of the alley the woman appears small. She brings one knee in to meet the other like some little girl waiting for a gelato, but this is no Italian plaza in summer time. The camera lingers on her, and in that moment I can hear the audience take an extended breath. In the darkness could be any number of dangers, but in the end that won't matter, just one will do.
I should be able to smell the popcorn of the other movie patrons, but instead the only odour is the dank alleyway in which the actress stands, too young to know the movie legend she would become a few short years later. The weak illumination that casts her face into semi-relief isn't romantic moonlight, but instead it falters as old neon signs do. Were she to walk toward the street there would be pawn shops, hotels selling their rooms by the hour and junkies cruising for a fix.
The temperature in this ambient theatre drops without warning, on the filthy ground is the shadow of a man. With steady footsteps it draws closer and, without even a warning noise, the charcoal hand takes out a pistol. The young starlet turns. A male voice tells her "It's time to pay" and a single shot fires. She drops, still perfect: soft cherry lips, hair arranged with every strand in place, ivory skin, angelic with closed lashes of thick black mascara. I know “who done it” of course; this film is older than my father. It was playing in cinemas when no-one knew who would win world war II...
In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lies the alleyway. It's the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. The vines that crawl up window sills and the crumbling plaster that envelopes the old stone bricks appear romantic at first but become daunting as the sun sets behind the skyline of chimneys. Darkness is lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter is dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot. Suddenly, a muffled, indistinct scream is heard from behind you. The street lights flicker off and you're left with nothing but but the orchestra of the urban night playing its eerie song...
The faint evening glow diminished as darkness consumed the land. The air grew colder and the zephyr stronger. Manon walked along the cobble stone sidewalk, shuffling the fallen leaves with every step she took. It was too late for her to be out and too dangerous to be alone. When she reached Echo Alley, she paused. The alley was named from the rumor of being able to hear the lost souls of the past cry out in pain. It was also the last place the missing girl was seen. She looked down the stretch of the alley into the dark forest. She should have ran away, but the temptation of feeding her curiosity was too hard to resist. The flickering street light beside her shattered and a single scream ripped from the forest. Without a second thought, she ran through the alley and woods, looking for the source of the scream.