Rain pitter-pattered on the bricks; each drop splattered on the hundreds of umbrellas that poked into one another in the swarm of them.
Dreary skies bore an ill reminder to the anarchy that occurred only two days ago. Many wondered with each bastion of Burnetrout being knocked down one by one, will this too fall?
Wrought iron fences walled the public and made up the balustrades; three stories tall and steeples stretching even taller. Gargoyles sat perched atop the black roof, looming along the massive perimeter of city hall.
Immaculately kept grass, flowers and shrubbery drowned in the morning downpour; the dirt they resided in were in circular patches across the 'yard' of black bricks ranging in various hues in a patterned manner.
This front yard of course, nearly a kilometre from every direction from the centre. Large clock hands rotated smoothly despite the weather at the top centre tower of the building.
