"There was absolute stillness. No air stirred the small patches of grass. No clouds drifted in the grey sky high above. Nothing. Not a sound could be heard. It was tranquil, but not a peaceful tranquility, more eerie than anything else. There wasn’t much plant life either, all the leaves from the few trees scattered around had already crumpled away as autumn melted into winter, and the cold bite of winter only emphasized the dullness of the environment."
You begin with an incredibly weak opening line. It sets the tone for the monotonous, long-winded, meaningless blather that follows it.
"Air" doesn't stir grass, "moving air" stirs blades of grass, yet you already made it abundantly clear that there is absolute stillness, so why bother reminding the reader that the grass isn't moving? What does the fact that there are patches of grass to be seen have to do with the rest of the narrative?
There is plenty of redundancy to follow as you painstakingly list everything that one can NOT see, or hear or feel...
You go to a great deal of trouble to inform the reader that it's a grey, dreary, chilly day and autumn is turning to winter.
"From one of the houses a girl sat with her bedroom window open, the cool crisp air of the night nipped at her and her breath seemed to die off as it left her mouth as she stared absentmindedly out the window, the street below her stretched out far beyond what she could see, one each side were identical semi detached houses, with the same dull grey path running down the side. The stained yellow glow of the streetlights bathed small patches of pavement. Everything was the same. So dull, it sucked the colour from the surroundings. She hated it here."
You casually mention what's happening in "one of the houses." What houses? Is the reader not supposed to be a tad taken aback and confused that a cluster of houses sits there when you haven't mentioned anything about them and then suddenly reference them as if the reader has already been given the grand tour?
It had previously been explained that it is "biting cold", yet somehow, this girl, who I'm assuming is breathing the same air you describe in your first paragraph, is feeling "cool, crisp" air. And it "nips" at her as well. How interesting. I myself wouldn't really describe the feel of a cool breeze as a "nip", I'd likely find it quite refreshing actually. Only you already made it clear that there is no breeze, so how did this nip of air seem to find its way through the window to begin with?
Wonderful. Now there's a street that appears suddenly out of nowhere. This girl must have very selective vision. As does the narrator. We are treated to a detailed account of how there is greyness and silence and stillness and NOTHING... Yet there are houses. Semi-detached houses. And streetlights illuminating the scene, yet that detail isn't mentioned until the very end.
Is it just me, or does everything tend to look a bit grey WHEN IT COMES TIME TO TURN THE FECKING STREETLAMPS ON?
And the reader isn't there with the girl, and the girl isn't the one telling the story. If you were telling me a story about the girl and you were talking to me about her room, would you say "She hates it here"? What if we were having that conversation in a chicken and chips restaurant? I would reply "You mean she doesn't like this place?" And then you would say, "No, you silly goose, I meant that she doesn't like her bedroom." And I would again be confused and compelled to ask "Then why in Hell are you referring to her bedroom as 'here', when it is obviously not 'here' to me or to you?" She is uncomfortable THERE because the reader isn't there and the narrator isn't there either.
There's more to writing than simply stringing sentences together. Think about what you're trying to say. Choose your words carefully. Build your scene. Don't throw words together and hope that it will be enough, you're not trying to paint a picture in the reader's mind. There's no sense of anything tangible or meaningful, there's nothing to envision. There's no consistency. It's just a jumble of words.