Our British Bretherin

Our British Breatheren

As the day was drawing to an end the sky shifted into many shades of colour, the sun gradually lowering until it hid behind the horizon. But when night creeps over England, shadows come to dance in the quiet backstreets of London. Above the houses and the roar of carrages on cobblestone roads, a young woman stood atop the large clocktower overlooking the Themes River. Her clothing were dark navy in colour and laced up at the back like that of a ballet shoe. She wore a hood that came to a point between her eyes and a cape that draped behind her right shoulder, gently waving in the wind. A man, of the same hight, joined her in this wonderous view of their homeland. He wore an off-white shirt which was accessorised with a loose, scruffy red tie that had been slung round his neck. Over the top was a grass green waistcoat that had white floral patterning. This was secured by a band of red felt that ran around his waist with two belts; one of which kept his throwing knives hidden underneath a long, black dust coat that came down to his knees. His dark brown boots looked well worn as the shoes were scuffed from toe to heel.
They raced down the clock face, laughing together as they enjoyed the freedom of life. But then as the hand struck nine, the ring of big ben made the young man lose his grip as he dropped down the ledge he was holding and managed to grab hold of the clock's hand. Holding on for his life, he bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"Evie, help!"
At the sound of her brother's distress call, she sored through the air at an alarming rate to aid her younger sibling.
"Hurry!" He cried "I can't hold on for much longer".