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Can I please have feedback on my creative writing

Rose_192006

I have completed the writing section of Paper 1 and I was wondering weather someone could possibly give me some feedbacks/ a mark. I don't think it's my best so constructive critism is welcome.

I was going to be late.

Light poured down like showers of hope acting as spotlights highlighting the bliss within society. Glistening, beaming, sparkling the ray's of the summer sunlight drew out a smile within my otherwise lifeless face. Elongated windows stamped either side of this daunting yet comforting environment which I spent most of my working years commuting in. The smell of coffee and fresh chewing gum grew strong encouted my nose.

I looked down at my chestnut, polished shoes and released I had forgotten my keys. Panic arose. Scrambling: patting down my pockets like a patronising security guard, scumbling through my ever so messy yet somehow organised indigo briefcase , emptying out my blazer pockets which now had wrinkles rippled throughout. It was gone. People circled me like animals in a pack. Hunting, prowling, plotting: every man pushed me. Knocking me back one by one, two by two, three by three. Brushing past my shoulder and destroying my equilibrium. I was now a statue to whom was disregarded and deprived of any human rights. Their faces became blurred. -So did my vision. Now covered with cold dew drowning my fringe, my hands became cold and unmalleable, my heart began to beat like a deathening dreary drum. Jolting up my neck became crocked as it cracked. Jerking a solemn tear my eyes once filled with an ocean of wonder were now flooded with fear, panic and uncertainty. Uncertainty of safety. Uncertainty of clarity. Uncertainty of rescue. I likened myself to a damsel in distress. But this cliché of chivalry was denied due to the gods of fate.

The grand marble floor was cold, dead and brittle. The windows appeared to be cells tainted with the a feverous gird pattern which hypnotised me. The sound of peoples measly conversation danced within my ear. Trifling with my senses. All sense of reality became distant and fleeting like a travelling lamp providing hope and clarity. Snatched away and put out by the brutality enrooted with this earth. The line of passengers awaiting their gilded ticket to freedom grow long and and traced around the bookshop like a serpents tail. Networks of lines and trains become daunting and overbearing. Sizeable screens of timings, dates, destinations, delays, codes, numbers, letters. All became blurred. Phantoms of figures stood sermented to the omniscient tiles of marble. I swirled my coat around me in desperation, latching onto my mahogany handle of my bad and emitted a exhausting sigh.

I was going to be late.