Descriptive Writing - Ruins Step Image

I panted up the never ending, worn out steps, awaiting the end of this continuous spiral. The steps were lathered with dried out mud from the previous thousands of people who had stood on these very steps. Although this place was centuries old, the laid out bricks were perfectly intact: a tarnished treasure. The air was burdensome, pushing my shoulders downwards. My exhaustion as well as the weight of the air harmonised together to create a battlefield. I was overwhelmed by ochre yellow materials; everywhere my eyes darted were fatigued bricks. It didn’t smell putrid despite the fact that I was overwhelmed by the earthy, musky scent which the trees secreted. The trees, in spite of the fact that they were healthy, appeared to be as ancient as every other thing in my vicinity. They were crooked with their leaves shedding vigorously. This historical value turned out to be flat, soulless pieces of brick. Nothing special here.

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