Freewrite:
Picture of a lone man in a piazza
(Note: Okay, this isn't the picture I used as inspiration, but it's similar. Just imagine looking at the back of a man, walking away from the view point with a briefcase in his hand and it's pretty close.)
By Meg Talbot
The sound of his footsteps echoed off the far walls of the empty piazza. He looked around forlornly. It was as he feared – devoid of live. So this beautiful old city hadn’t been spared this horror making its way down the coast.
The remnants of a recent rainstorm streamed between the stones of the square, the smell of the moisture heavy in the air. It reflected his mood; he felt weighed down under something he didn’t understand. He barely noticed when the lights flickered on around the darkening piazza. He gripped his suit case closer, feeling apprehensive with the gathering darkness and his immediate task. It was his job to report on the situation, which included numbering the dead and the living, if there were such lucky – or unlucky – people here. He had found only two in the last town.
At least the lights were still working here. His task would be difficult enough without the black night creeping over the town. He shuddered slightly, although the evening was warm enough despite the rain. He stopped and placed his briefcase on the ground, quietly flipping the latches. He might as well get started right away.
