Eyelids drooping, the weary sun hid behind the cloud of smog, creating a murky, melancholy sunset. Smoke slithered through the sky, arousing hacking coughs and moans of the people. Houses hunched in embarrassment, their feet soaked with oil and remorse. Crying acidic tears, the delirious sky gloomily sat on the plethora of skyscrapers. At the bottom of the never-ending pit of doom, sat a grim river which once was radiant and reflected the verdant scenery was now a home to tar and soot. The steel ships begrudgingly cruised on the body of bleeding oil. They coughed incessantly, their rustic bodies shivering in the hate and loneliness, like a pariah on the unforgiving streets of the city. Dilapidated shops closed their shutters in fear as the wind whisked the sultry feeling of dismay from one street to another. The city smelt of remorse as it remembered the time, they had colors but concrete grey and asphalt. The brooding feeling suffocated the city, tears of anguish pelted the dusty windows of apartments like knives. Yawning, the skyscrapers reached out to the sky, piercing its sallow face with the murderous nails of iron. Time faded away. Crenulated clouds pondered aimlessly between the pockets of the lonely streets. Lampposts hunched and flickered, eyes blinking from the venomous fumes of factories nearby. Houses replied to each other in curt comments of hate and fury, as they sat on the black, tarmac tongues of the city. Tension choked the neck of the budlings, so thick that you can cut it. An atmosphere of contamination and solitude waved its hands in dismay. It was a dystopian city. Disheveled, the lanky inhabitants fled from the factories as if hypnotized, their faces greased with tears of pain, shirts burnt and battered, shoes pierced and stabbed by the harsh, arrogant roads. Their mouths like sawdust as they barely talked anymore, their eyes a never-ending well of sorrow, their face a blank slate. Shuffling along, the belligerent aura sat on their shoulders, as heavy as the sky. Machiavellian oil writhingly crept under the worn-out shoes of the people, making them falter and slip, then punched by the oil-slicked roads. Like sandpaper, the rough and calloused hands of the people blindly groped the crumbling walks blindly, the minimal light from the lampposts insufficient to peek through the yards of sullen, floating waste.
 
The sounds of churning corrupted the deathly silence. The factories sign shutting down. Waste was retched out of the pipes, sounds of rumbles erupted through the land eating the last morsels of fresh water as it greedily jumped into the river. Shivering, the gutters gargled as they spit the remnants of tar and pollute. A tide of heat washed over the city like a tsunami, scorching hot exhaust fumes burnt the bodies of the buildings, now bathed in a shower of chemicals. Nothing could quench the peoples’ thoughts of a better life. Their woe grew as tall as the skyscrapers and as wide as the river, reverberating through the city.