How London Looks Through the Eyes of a Country Girl

A fictitious creative piece

London in the crisp atmosphere of January is truly ethereal. Despite still-bustling streets, London itself is silent. The museums and architecture remain calm, almost sleeping, just below a cold, refreshing sky.

Being totally awake and motivated in the middle of winter, the city – totally tranquil – somehow embraces the cold and protects itself from it at the same time. It's a time to start off anew, when you are motivated to explore new wonders and the city of London will take care of itself and its inhabitants, making sure that things run smoothly.

It marks the shift from hedonism to nirvana. You can finally be at peace. No need to worry about smiling, crying or thinking. You can simply exist, taking inspiration from motionless groups of buildings.

Allow yourself to let go, and everything is taken care of while you do so. You can come back to it all with a fresh spirit derived from the fresh, blue sky and the still waters of the Thames, all mirrored by monumental skyscrapers.

I realise that to my left across the street, I realise that there has been some shouting coming from an old pub that has been interrupting the silence despite my trance. The pub looked dark but cosy, the kind of place where you'd meet close friends, adorned with the classic dark green that every pub in England seems to sport. From this cosy little terraced construction, two men stumble from the entrance, slurred insults ringing throughout the street.

One of the two paces towards the other and starts pushing him backwards, almost pushing him like a shopping trolley into the road. Suddenly, the shouting stops when they reach the curb and the two drunkards remain in place for a good few minutes, like a statue, one intimidating the other. From an outside perspective, it's like staring at the painting of a battle, but both faces are calculating something, wide eye and furrowed brows. They both seem to have lost their coats and the cold must be getting to their bones.

The dominant brawler releases the other one, who was still somehow defiant, and drops him to the ground in the road, which was thankfully bare. He turns all of a sudden, marches up the street and disappears round a corner. The other, bewildered yet ticked, gets to his feet and trudges back into the bar. He exits shortly after and takes off in the opposite direction of his opponent to get back home.

The streets of London are once again left in quiet composure, and peace is returned to the city as if it never left.