My City

Once in a painting class, I was assigned a brief read, Invisible Cities, by Italo Calvino. It was a beautiful book with descriptions of imaginary cities that Marco Polo supposedly visited. I then needed to choose a city I found most interesting and paint it.


As much as a loved painting Calvino’s city, I wanted to make my own city filled with things that interested me most. So, perhaps now is the time to begin writing.

The shore lines the vacant town with jagged rocks and shells, which crush the washed up bones of fish; none but crabs and seagulls walk this beach. Salty air hangs thickly around the decrepit buildings that once maintained commanding beauty, though now chip yellowed paint off their siding. A passer-by may dismiss this broken city, but beneath the gritty exterior is a story. A story of what this place used to be.
Every shattered window, every splintered door was once a guardian of its people. But where are these people now? No voices echo through the damp alleys or within the church’s walls. Everything is grey, for the exception of a small, red hat with, what was once a white satin bow, now a sick shade of green. It is the only evidence that life ever existed here.

I will be sure to add more if I can think of anything interesting to add. Perhaps I should develop a murder story centered around the town. I don't know.