The Night, a short story by twistedvictim. Date added: 2012-06-15. Times viewed: 511.

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The sky is a velvety dark blue, stars glitter, like diamonds on a ball gown.
We are standing on a hill overlooking the City. Lights shine brightly and you can almost hear the laughter and music from here.
We turn and leave the hill, to go the bus stop, which will put on a bus to take us to the centre of the city.
But first we travel through the suburbs. Quiet now, people asleep.
If you listen carefully you will hear cats singing to each other and maybe a baby cry.
Earlier it rained here and the streets glitter under the orange glow of sodium lights. The smell of ozone is in the air.

Let us move on.

We travel for a while, turn into a different street and hear the sounds of a party. People talking and laughing, a jazz band playing. The clink of glasses, a celebration, but of what? That we will never know.
Then onto a main road, cars are moving slowly up and down. No traffic jams, just people enjoying the warmth, their windows down and radios blaring.
We go down this road, all the shops are closed, apart from the occasional twenty four hour off licence with the obligatory groups of teenagers hanging around outside. The girls with fancy gelled hair, high heels and short skirts. The boys with crisp designer shirts and ironed blue jeans. Townies.
A pub empties its customers on to the pavement, drunk and happy, laughing. These people will search for another place to go. The night is still young for those who want to party.
Onto another road and this is where the homeless are. Some asleep, some reach out hands to passers by, asking for the price of a cup of tea. But let's not linger here, for they are a harsh reminder of reality and tonight we party.
We turn the corner and finally we reach it, the centre of the city at night. Music floats out of clubs and bars. Crowds jostle, people laugh, talk, drink. Couples pass by in their own paradise.
We enter one of those clubs and are greeted by sweltering heat, smoke and loud music. I don't know the tune but I dance anyway. The smoke, a man made fog, obliterates shapes and faces, swimming in and out of view.
I step outside, into the fresh cool night air and hear a clock strike one. I realise it is Big Ben.
Ahead is a group of restaurants and out of them flow a tantalising mix of smells. The night is alive with an array of smells, sights and sounds.
The night is London Town.

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