The window

The lamppost was outshined by the ribbons of moonlight and the glistening river that flowed down the London cobles reflected the face of the gentle giant. Ivy was climbing the wall as if to find a fairy-tale but her hair did not flow. The battlefield of London was uncovered by the icy winds that slapped my paleface. The night air was heavy, damp with the wafting odour of strong tobacco that opened my senses. High up in the world looks small but with night it’s like it was your map to follow to your dead end.

The river that flowed with unforgiving memories was disrupted by a foot of a dark silhouette. The figure came to the path with hesitation of where to put his feet. The odour of tobacco became stronger with the ruby glow that Shon between the fingers of the man of the night. His trench coat danced in the winds that blurred my vision that once perfect vision.  Suddenly the ruby glow faded and the remains of a cigarette fell to the floor. As this happened the man pressed his foot to the pavement and drew a deep breath that made me stir a little. He looked up. The night stole my identity. His prominent cheekbones remained sharp, as he was still curiously looking up at my window. His ruffled coal hair swayed but still. His glare was piercing my security and made my eyes meet his deep blue diamonds.

I could have sworn that a face so unique and mysterious would stay in my mind but how come I have never seen him before. His glare changed direction to his chariot that gleamed a shine of discontent. The words ‘Taxi’ were protesting against his darkness and glowed an amber colour. The car stopped with a screech that intrigued me to know more. The door flung open with the interior of fake leather and his pale as snow hand reached for the door. And one by one his fingers ran across the very top of his ride.

He sighed again.  Knowing the driver would become impatient and so to my surprise he turned to face me. If only he could see my wondering eyes that lead me to this man of mystery. I leaned out the window to get a closer look, but the wind hit me so I retrieved to my warm abode. His purple shirt was shown as he turned and raised his hand to the driver as if to say wait. I startled as he coughed as he wanted to speak to me, his tone of voice was romantic and stirred the silence of Baker Street. “Welcome to London”.