I just had a few days off, and found time to check out DeviantArt. I decided to write the AI image below. It’s only a short piece; about 500 words or a 3-4 minute read. Enjoy!

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The sky burned a fiery orange, a rare sunset to cap an unusually warm autumn day. There won’t be many more like that, thought Lizzy as she squirmed to make herself comfortable on the hard wooden slats. She paused for a moment, marveling at the view before her.

Over the river was Portcullis House, a glorified office block which functioned as overspill for the country’s Members of Parliament. Built at a time when buildings were meant to be modern, to be efficient, the architect had at least paid lip service to its namesake.

Even at this hour, every light in the offices shone brightly.

Next, giving the game away, stood possibly the most famous clock face on the planet. That magnificent sentinel, Big Ben. Its sandstone grandeur was now merely a silhouette against the evening sky, and its reliable white face told her that it was just shy of eight o’clock.

Scanning further, the majestic Palace of Westminster imposed itself on her vista, with its enormous Victoria Tower presiding. Bereft tonight of its regular union flag, the spots of light from its windows, and activity she’d witnessed on the terraces, nevertheless indicated that the Houses of Parliament were in full swing this evening.

The home of democracy, she scoffed. But not her democracy. It was impossible to comprehend its opulence, compared to her own… predicament. With that of her new “friends”. The vast wealth which she had formerly, willingly, funded.

And in the foreground, Lizzy counted nine… was it ten? ornate streetlights running along the bridge. Three indolent double-deckers trudged across, their trademark postbox-red now muffled by the dusk. Lizzy could not help but feel envy toward their passengers, no doubt returning to their cosy homes, to hot evening meals. Not so long ago, that had been her. So, where had it all gone wrong?

But those thoughts were pointless. She was where she was and must make the best of it. Forcing herself to scan upriver, that modern powerhouse, the Millbank Tower. She knew it well. Lizzy had spent the day in the park, just a stones’ throw from it, before being moved on by that bellicose policeman. She was not, she knew, the image that the politicians cared to portray, and Lizzy had sought sanctuary by crossing the river.

BONG!

The clatter of the bell brought Lizzy to her senses. She tutted. Absent-mindedly, she had been gnawing on her now-matting mop of fiery red hair again. At the same instant, a gust of bitter easterly wind jolted her soft, raw cheek. A reminder that summer was over, that she had survived…

Instinctively, she pulled the tatty blue poncho, a souvenir of this year’s marathon, closer. A long sigh, before she creaked to her feet. That same cheek felt rain in the air.

If I want my place in the underpass, I’d better get a move on.