derelict building - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The derelict buildings clung to the hillside scree, stubbornly refusing to die. The walls were no more than the same rock and dirt they stood on, yet storm after storm failed to return them to the earth. They were a refuge for rogue travellers who sometimes passed through the district and a haven for small birds. In the long cold nights their outline on the dark horizon was a landmark for even the locals.
Though the neighbourhood was mostly re-built, there were some derelict buildings that remained. Next to the fancy architecture of the new they almost looked like they were beamed in from an old fashioned horror movie; nothing good ever comes from buildings so beaten down by endless seasons of weathering. To the local kids they were more alluring than the corner candy store and at night a few would break in with flashlights, eager to find a souvenir to show back at school. There had been a few cases of teens falling through rotten stairways, but mostly they only hung around long enough to break another window or lift an old photograph from a wall, or else a peeling of yellowed wallpaper that blistered.
...The underground sky-train station springs to mind, Waterfront. Months ago it was a high status hide out for an early gang. They had everyone in an iron grip until the Running Blades bombed the place. All that neoclassical architecture now an unusable shell. The roof more porous than the arsoned church. The rain pours in unfettered and the wind howls around what’s left of the structure. But the stairs to the lower platform are still there. It’s dark and the old trains offer a wealth of hiding opportunities. But best of all it’s just a stone’s throw from the market. It’s there I head now, better by far to be safely hidden before the traders begin to set up for the day...
The building on the hill had been derelict for a generation. No-one knew who owned it or why it hadn't been either demolished or refurbished. It was a gaunt shell of a mansion. The windows were mostly broken, but once they had been fancy mullioned sash types. Where there was still glass it was grey with the grime of twenty years. The door had been thick and oak with a brass knocker that looked like a lion head, but a few years back on halloween some local yobs had taken it off and after dousing it in kerosine had set fire to it. Now the wind blew right in, whistling up the corridors, adding real damp from the driven rain to the rising damp that crept slowly up the wall paper, making it peel. At night there were flickering lights at some of the windows, the squatters had moved in. Rumour has it that the once grand staircase is littered with used syringes and other drug paraphernalia. All I know for sure is that the red brick crumbles in my hands and roof slates lie smashed in the weeds
When they woke from the cryo-chambers the world had changed. Civilization as they'd known it had ceased and the only clues lay in the derelict buildings. The concrete giants bore cracks and the wooden structures were gone, over-taken by the forest that was reclaiming the once sprawling city. And so it was in the apartments they found the last remaining evidence of how the human race met their final days. Each one was a time capsule of sorts, the lives of the inhabitants preserved for these intruders to pry into. Most bore the signs of having been looted, others were mausoleums for the unburied, crumbling bones amid plastic furniture that never decomposes. In those that had open doors, animals had made nests and brought in mud and leaf litter. Each one was a silent as the abandoned streets outside...
The once strong roof of had been neglected for decades passed its intended lifespan. The building surpassed the notion of being simply "old" some years previously and was now utterly derelict. Ivy grew unchecked over the crumbling brick facade, the stems as thick as a young tree. River made his way forwards, his brain checking out a little too early, causing his stumbling gait to become problematic. Derelict or not, this was his abode for the night. The door gave way to his falling body weight without a fight, leaving him to commando crawl to the spot where he let unconsciousness overwhelm him.
If life in our district was summed up by the state of the buildings, derelict and worn, we'd all be in a great deal of trouble. But even in adversity there is the spirit of our people, a spirit that cannot be beaten by wind and rain; we are not the gravel underfoot but eagles on lofty drafts. So though we take our slumber within walls that creak and moan, our minds are strong. In time we will recover and our buildings will be restored. Until then we offer hymns to the creator above and our unending devotion to mother earth below, may she always be as beautiful as He made her to be.
Great husks of old buildings, grimy roof with broken tiles, windows staring down, remnants of shattered glass in rotting wooden frames, mortar and stone crumbling, invasive vegetation in walls, black and empty doorways, graffiti, garbage, used syringes, stink of urine, ghosts of the past. Burned out car with half melted tires, charred and black inside, metal of frame exposed, back blown out where petrol tank exploded. Derelict buildings like rows of broken teeth.
A sickly-sweet butcher shop odour enveloped my nasal cavities. It looked like a soul paying its respects to its late husband. The birch wood door had been left hanging on a single hinge. Its wood pierced my skin with a splinter, letting the fear I'd kept caged break loose.