Creative Writing Workbook Activity Part 1

The truth is I read about new terrorist alarms and the other day I sat at a coffeeshop in The Bull Ring shopping centre, Birmingham and had a perfect view over the crowded little square outside. Socialists handing out flyers, people passing in all directions. I pictured a few men standing in each end of the street, shooting at everything and everyone coming their way. Armed forces arriving within seconds and the alarming silence overtaking the city, the world. I picture it happening in Alexanderplatz, Berlin and I picture it happen when the tube rushes forward in the London underground. I can almost hear the silence, see dust and blood from human body parts.

And still, it would be nothing like I imagine.

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One summer's day was not really a summer's day to me. I was in a town in Midlands and never had a summer felt so far away. Wearing warm material black trousers I went to my very understimulating job. Gothenburg felt further away then ever before - the ferrys out to the islands, my dad's summerhouse on the westcoast, me and my friends in one of the central parks drinking beer and waving to tourists passing in the canal bot. Each day finishing work I took the Mickleover bus in to the city - and it always made me react hearing the voice in the speakersystem, "Next stop: Strand, Strand..."

Strand means beach in Swedish.