Victorian Description Essay

Victorian Description
A cloudy gush of gloomy and thick smoke spills out from an immense structure of darkness. It explodes into the felted cerulean sky like fireworks and covers the city with a dark blanket of soot. A strong stench fills my irritated pale nose, as I stare down into the burdened streets of people crowding the city of Victorian London.
I observe the ladies, strolling confidently down the street with class and taste – wearing modish pearl white dresses with sleeves as long as pythons. They strut down the street in brunette leather ankle boots paired perfectly with their convoluted dresses that contain a million layers, that seemed to have been specialized for royalty beforehand. The gracious little girls are enchanted princesses; they walk with grace and poise, wearing gorgeous skirts stiffened with petticoats and long blouses with high necklines. After I finish staring at the mesmerized women and little girls for what only seems like a second, they walk past my enthralled chocolate eyes, and continue to walk with
confidence and charm. Now I am noticing the particularly neat looking men, wearing emerald green skintight frock coats that seem to be as tall as an oak tree. The young petite boys are dressed fairly similar, wearing formal, frilly, fresh looking shirts that match flawlessly with their long sleek hair.
I notice that this place is only filled with those who contain perfection and elegance. But I turn around to the sight of drained, miserable children lying down on the rocky cobblestones. As I stare at them with bewilderment, I notice that they are wearing ragged filthy clothes, some of them wearing torn ripped shoes that are bound to fall apart at any moment. Others are going barefoot, their naked feet surrounded by agonizing, unbearable scratches, blisters, and scabs; the deprived children having to deal with scarlet red blood gradually leaking from their skin, their faces still and emotionless from the pain. When I gaze into each and everyone’s eyes, I can sense the pain and fear inside their wounded bruised bodies. I imagine them working, perhaps in a mine, continuously digging dirt in a dull tedious atmosphere. Their bodies are zombies aching with pain, their arms and legs just doing the same repetitive action again and again, virtually unable to move. I can taste the feeling of trash, disgust and hatred, as I close my eyes, waiting for everything to disappear. At last my eyes flicker open, my heart feeling a sense of relief and calm, but as I continue to walk down the hectic streets, my mind keeps going back to that moment. That moment I will never forget. The pain. The disgust. Everything.
I stop by a conservative depressed looking school – the walls made from earthy coarse bricks, having a strange crumbly feel to the touch.
I look through a rusty window and can see the strict daunting teacher stroke the pitch black chalkboard with a fine crumbly piece of chalk. She draws an elegant cursive “L” on the board, the frantic children all struggling to replicate the perfect example into their plain simple white notebooks. The teacher continues to speak, the children sitting in their uncomfortable backless seats trying to concentrate – trying to note down every single word that falls out of the teacher’s mouth. But then, I see a child with the slightest bit of slouch, the fanatical teacher quickly noticing and stomping towards her. WHACK. The stick slaps into her flesh and bruises her pale skin. WHACK. A teardrop pours down her eyes as she turns her head down, refusing to look at anyone. WHACK. The entire class shudders in
fear.
I turn around and walk back to where my journey began, pondering how diverse and eccentric this world is. A world filled with pollution and darkness, people of all divisions, and..