The Disused Station, by Beatrice

In the centre of London there stands a station. Cloaked in English fog and grizzle. Trees waving and swaying in the gentle breeze. Commuters make their way across the wide bridge, flanked in coats and anoraks, carrying heavy briefcases and leather handbags. Nearby, the new office building welcomes businessmen and secretaries into the busy, air-conditioned lobby. Outside there still stands the faded, orange and white signpost, the only standing evidence that a station ever existed.

Underneath the soot-smothered bridge, a maze of tracks steal their way through deserted alleyways. The stench of rotting wood and rusty steel grasping the lungs of passers by. Watching patiently by the side lines, dry and dehydrated heather weaves its way through the concrete by the tracks. A greasy paper bag staggers onto the tracks, eventually fluttering to the ground and lying there peacefully. Soon, a hungry pigeon swoops down towards the station and nibbles peckishly at the fat salty chips leftover from a lazy takeaway. Soon however, he returns to the nearby square. There the smells of meaty burgers and sauce-smothered hot dogs, spicy curries and sweet treats. The sounds of laughter and chatter tease the isolated station, yearning for company in its desolate state.

Sullen and grumpy, large oak trees weaken day by day in debt to the gardener who had long ago abandoned his low-paying job at the age of 75. Each of the bricks, unique with each of the varying levels of grit and dirt. Here they guard the lonely station, some comfort to the saddening heart, surrounding it. Flung nearby and embedded in a cage of heather, scraps of cardboard and wood punctured with screws lie there, withered.

The Disused Station, by Alex

The grey clouds hang over the sky about to cry tears of rain. The wind flows through the undergrowth that clings to the old and rusted disused station.

The glass stands there with no eye looking through; the overhang with no one to stay dry under it; a squirrel runs across the roof with nuts in its mouth. The train house with no trains to cover the weeds ramming themselves through the ground.

There are splotches of bird poop on the walkway. The smell of rust and oil wafts across the train tracks and the leaning white fence, once straight, and once stretched over a mile. The train tracks that were once silver are now brown with rust.

The grey clouds hang over the sky crying their tears of rain.

The Disused Station, by Beatrix

The disused station sat waiting. Waiting. Embedded in thorns and bushes. Salty tear drops falling from the sky. The faint sound of scuttling feet was all you could hear. And the biting wind flew through your hair making it ache in pain. The echo of a scream rang throughout the room, as if someone was there.

The railway track was engulfed by vines, like a lion catching its prey. The faint aroma of smoke drifted to and fro and the shards of glass lay by the door of the window waiting to be fixed.

The old door sat there moaning in the wind as it got closer to its death. Creak. Its rough untarnished wood would slit through any one skin like scissors to paper. Harsh.

But the disused train station still sits there waiting. Waiting.

The Disused Station, by Sebastian

The disused station loomed out of the mist, covered in ice and frost. In the distance, seagulls circled the shore line. The mist swirled around the abandoned building showing broken brick and stone. On the track the moss multiplied and crept onto the fence.

The twittering of birds called out from the nearby trees. Cows grazed in the nearby mile coloured field. The fumes of petrol hung in the air and the smell of rotting earth rose up from the ground. The mist brought in the tang of salt from the distant ocean. Beside the building the stones lay crumbling and forgotten.

Spiky weeds curled up amongst the bricks, moss and lichen smothering the surface. The crumbling dust floated gently to the floor. A light drizzle began to fall, hiding the building from view.

The Disused Station, by Emma

The old station looks grey and very sorry for itself. There is a light drizzle in the air but then it stops, leaving puddles on the ground. The big bright sun comes out to reveal a rainbow. The scene is peaceful, this is an old railway station in Wales. The surrounding area is beautiful because there are daisies and lots of wild flowers. On the tracks there are weeds starting to grow in the middle.

The platform is home to an old wooden bench that is rusty and the paint is coming off. In days gone by lots of happy people would have sat on this bench enjoying sandwiches and sweets. In part of the railway house the roof has started to fall down and the windows have been broken by kids throwing stones.

The Disused Station, by Jonah

The disused station rested alone by the long forgotten train tracks. The birds above whistled wistfully. Weeds crawled over the still tracks.

The isolated station slept soundlessly. The ancient train tracks corroded slowly leaving gaps like giant broken teeth. The tin roof guarded the station faithfully. The scent of flowers filled the air and the trees rustled, creating a peaceful atmosphere. The clouds gathered menacingly, looming over the world.

The gleaming fence waited patiently. Its pale colour shone in the sun, alone, broken, abandoned.

The disused station rested alone by the long forgotten train tracks.

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