Before Dawn

Brief: to describe a city street from the perspective of someone who has just committed a murder. You're not meant to discuss the murder or what is going on in the character's head regarding the murder - the focus must be on the description. Can be first or third person. 200 words.

I don't know how long I've been standing in the alleyway. A fluorescent light buzzes on the wall. Hundreds of moths flitter around it, their wings rustling and vibrating. Their world is complete, but above me the universe rotates cold and navy-blue and forever. I tilt my weight forward and walk through oily puddles towards the street. I shrink back when an empty Aircoach drives by. In the distance, a shopkeeper rolls up his galvanised steel shutters. They sound like gunshots as they hit the tops of their frames. I turn and walk the other way, past a bus shelter, past a closed news kiosk, past some bicycle racks. In a few hours, the street will be gridlocked with cars, but now I cross it without looking. Two pigeons peck methodically at a splash of vomit that lies like a discarded pizza on the pavement. My stomach convulses. I drop to my hands and knees and retch until my vision turns black.

Starters

Brief: to set out an argument between two people. The focus should be on the dialogue. Limited to a single page of double-spaced size 12 Times New Roman font.

Susan paused while the waiter arranged the starters in front of them. As soon as he had moved away to attend another table, she recommenced her appeal: “But we haven't been away to a nice place in ages!”
“I thought the High Pyrenees last summer was quite nice,” said Tom.
“You know what I mean - a nice place,” said Susan. Her tone was cajoling and reasonable, but Tom knew that she was prepared to spiral into increasingly reckless and wounding arguments if her will was impeded. Afraid of what she might say, he had always stopped her short by capitulating, or mollifying her into accepting some alternative.
“You mean 'expensive'?” he said. “I don't understand why somewhere has to be expensive to be nice.”
“Somewhere doesn't have to be expensive to be nice, but I want to stay in the George V, and it just happens to be expensive.” Susan's voice was becoming brittle and clipped.
“OK, so why don't we go somewhere else that's nice but not as expensive?”
“Because it won't be the George V.”
“What is it about the George V that is such a must-have?”
“It's... everyone we know has been there. They say it's amazing. Why do we have to be the only ones who've never stayed there before?”
“So that's what makes it such a must-have – the fact that everyone we know has stayed there? That's just ridiculous,” said Tom. He felt an exhilaration in allowing the disdainful note in his voice to echo untempered between them.
Susan detected the shift instantly, and she hesitated in surprise before flaring into full blown anger.
“I didn't work night and day to put you through college for this” she hissed.
Tom looked at her wrist lying slender and delicate on the table. He wanted to wrap his hand around it and twist.