There's a lot more than bodies buried beneath London, there's a whole other city down there and its full to bursting. You can see it from topside just by looking down the old grates by the roads. There'll be little things, tiny signs of life if you know what to look for. Little Compton Street is the most well known, the sign is still there if you know where to look and the internet will advise you exactly where to look.
Petty streets aside and deeper beneath even the underground lines there lies the remains of old London, the oldest pieces of the cities loosely connected through the remnants of old buildings stacked one-upon-the-other in a near endless staircase until they end abruptly in the water-logged ground beneath the Thames itself.
To journey down is to journey through time, from era to era in reverse all through ladders, ropes, padded chains and stairs so old they have begun to sprout back into the trees they once were. Wallpaper lies in scattered crumbs to be swept up and reused by whomever is first to spy it and all eyes roam the hallways for such small treasures.
It is said that at the deepest point there's nothing but water, that London ends in the sea, a deep current flowing right through the heart of England and travelling onwards to bifurcate Scotland as well. The fish that swim there were once in the millions but, as nature is wont to do, they feasted on one another until a handful of giants remained, constantly on the prowl for pray and kin alike.
Even the deepest dwelling Londoner avoids the sea below the Thames and whatever lurks within those murky grey waters.
Petty streets aside and deeper beneath even the underground lines there lies the remains of old London, the oldest pieces of the cities loosely connected through the remnants of old buildings stacked one-upon-the-other in a near endless staircase until they end abruptly in the water-logged ground beneath the Thames itself.
To journey down is to journey through time, from era to era in reverse all through ladders, ropes, padded chains and stairs so old they have begun to sprout back into the trees they once were. Wallpaper lies in scattered crumbs to be swept up and reused by whomever is first to spy it and all eyes roam the hallways for such small treasures.
It is said that at the deepest point there's nothing but water, that London ends in the sea, a deep current flowing right through the heart of England and travelling onwards to bifurcate Scotland as well. The fish that swim there were once in the millions but, as nature is wont to do, they feasted on one another until a handful of giants remained, constantly on the prowl for pray and kin alike.
Even the deepest dwelling Londoner avoids the sea below the Thames and whatever lurks within those murky grey waters.
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