|Westminster Abbey London|
Looking very impressive.
I need to flex my writing muscles so I am choosing a photo of London to write a spooky150 words about.
James is Cold!
The petrol pooled around the mans back as he lay sleeping under a thin layer of newspapers in the doorway of Westminster Tube Station. James having left his marble tomb in the Abbey was filled with rage. He shouted why should he be dead! He was a lord, a man of importance, useful to society, yet he hadn`t reached his 40th birthday.
His marble resting place was cold, his plaque read James Henry Wilson 1829 to 1868, but he craved energy and life. Kings and Queens, statesmen and children, from long ago ages wept at the Abbey windows. The sky was dark and Big Ben had just struck two am when James lit his match. The screams of fear and pain filled the air waking the lonely asleep in their pitiful cardboard city. James heart could not be warmed by the fire.
The newspapers wrote of horror in a London doorway 2013 had seen many such incidents but a suspect had not been found. James roared with anger in his grave. That night a desolate man stuffed his thin clothes with paper and settled down for the night.