Writing descriptions

Marching (Based off image I cannot find)

Hello. Welp. It's been a weird one. Congrats to me, not doing any GCSE exams. Have good quarantine vibes and stuff. Good luck to everyone who does end up doing the exams. I'm typing up the rest of the writings and I will most likely stop there. #ClassOfCovid-19 #ClassOfCancelledGCSEs

Peace out :)

The rhythmic marching pounded the ground and vibrated through the ceilings and floors of grey concrete. The fear-induced screams of families shuddered throughout the streets that had run red with blood. Faces of terrified children peeked through covered windows, curious as to what all the nasty noises were. Never had they thought that this was the scene that would greet them and scar them for eternity?

The figures in the dark, recognisable uniform paraded through rows upon rows of houses, daring any sane person to fight back their oppressive behaviour. A fire raged beside the gangs. It scavenged for oxygen, while people clung to their wishes, desperately. Anybody outside a home cowered behind the safety nets of bins and the protection of fear.

Doors of muck and grime sealed shut as these shadows of aggression and dastardly violence patrolled the unlucky survivors. Scents of death and sickness smacked survivors in their faces, taunting them with freedom from the tyrannical groups.

For months, this had become the norm: the hiding, the torments, the diminishing hope for absurd rescue. No one in their right minds from this purgatory. Generations of people tearfully said goodbyes to their freedom-filled family, in fanciful privacy.

Tyrants barked in their assumed glory and enforced the mandatory laws upon willing subjects, that reluctantly regurgitated anthems of their dictators.

Once in a while, the devastation would break a "sane one", compelling them to rebel publicly. Those who tried to stop them would have to gaze upon the embers that would release agonising screams. Screams of pure anguish. Burned into the memories of the people - to make an example. Is there nothing to fear, except fear itself?