Descriptive Essay About Clowntopia

It had finally arrived. Moving day. I was finally leaving my home in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania after five short years and a sort of gloom lingered in the air. Although many teenagers would be excited to reunite with their family, friends, and childhood home, I, however, was frightened of the future. I woke up that morning and just laid there and listened to the sound of the rain pittering against the roof and windows, pattering against the surrounding forest in which I shared many memories. After what felt like centuries of just listening and reflecting, I got up and looked out the window. I looked at my neighbor's house across the field of grass which separated our houses and at the kids who had become like my siblings. I looked at the ice

I didn’t want to have to leave my friends in Nashville and be forced to make new ones in Atlanta. I didn’t want to get used to another new house or another city. I just wanted to stay in the only place I could call home. As the day of my departure approached, I thought of running away, so I wouldn’t have to move and my dad could keep his job in Atlanta. Thankfully, I never went through with it. When the day finally arrived, I was everything but ready. My mom had picked my brother up from school early to help move boxes out of the house and into our car while the movers haled broken down beds, and other pieces of furniture into their industrial moving trucks. Once everything was packed into trucks, paper work was finished and dogs were loaded in the car, we began the long 4-hour trip to Atlanta as dusk made its way to the sky. The trip itself was a calm one, we managed to avoid any major accidents on the highway, and we were traveling around 8 o’clock so the traffic had died down. As we drove I couldn’t help but think back to the friends I left and what was to come

A recent statement by the World Clown Association puts this issue into perspective, a portion of which is quoted:

I lived in my own little bubble. It was perfect and clear. I did have some abnormal things go on inside. Fires, a strange step-dad, even some near-death experiences, but it seemed that nothing could pop that bubble. I had a great family, friends, and home. If only you could have seen my bubble, it was indestructible, until it wasn’t. Maybe it was the timing or how she said it, but I never took the words “we’re moving” seriously. Actually, it wasn’t until the day that I was to leave that it started to sink in. The sun glared across the brick wall in the

I dreaded coming home, it was the worst thing I could imagine and as i grew the feeling didn’t change. I would get out of bed quietly not wanting to wake up my mother, my bruises are still healing from yesterday’s beatings. I go to my closet and put on a black, long-sleeved shirt to cover up the scars, a pair of jeans to cover the hurt and a pair of hand-me-down sneakers. I quickly tip-toe past my mom’s room, only to see her lying there, sound asleep with an empty wine glass slowly slipping out of her hand. I grab my book bag and walk out the door and to the bus stop. I walked through the hallways, to each class and I hear the nasty comments and the rumors, secretly believing every word they say. I walked to lunch a sit alone as people pull

I hated the lies between my “best friend” and I; I hate the hospital here, I hate that I couldn’t spend much time with my friends as much as my brother did, or having a chance to mapping around to all these places he was bragging about. But then, after wasting my first week, now I let the breeze brush against my skin and let my hair fly back behind me. The scent of everything keeps pulling me back and won’t let go. After all these years, I am finally here, sitting behind my friends electric bicycle and listen to them spilling out all these café shop and food stands they went after school and how our classmates had changed throughout the

We finally arrived, the house is extraordinary. It’s huge, the rooms are so nice and the outside is all decorated with gorgeous flowers and trees. I already like this place. I ran around the house looking for the perfect room and I finally found it. It was a really light lilac color and there was a huge bed in the corner. There was even a balcony. I walked around the house for a bit and then I told my mom that I was going to walk around the

The door slammed on my way out of the old apartment building. No, I didn’t slam the door; it was a windy morning in the city of Chicago. As I was walking outside, I whispered to myself “This is it.” The wind was pushing against me, almost causing me to tumble over. Along with the wind, the smell of rain filled my nostrils and my clothing started to soak from just a five-yard walk from the apartment building to my dad’s truck. As soon as I got inside my dad’s truck, I was shivering from the ice-cold rain and piercing wind that was outside and I loudly sighed with relief. The slam of the door may seem like a negative thing, but it was actually the beginning of a better life for me. It was the sound of me breaking free from an affectionless prison

I sat in the empty house, not seeing walls, but memories. I couldn’t imagine not coming home from school, unpacking my things, and walking straight back to the bus stop to meet my friend. We were moving to North Carolina, and I can already tell what an impact it will have on who I am, and the people around me. But as I reflect, I can see that I used relationships and creativity to overcome my fear.

The definition of the word clown states that a clown is a funny entertainer in a circus who wears different costumes and makeup. The history of clowns isn’t a well-known thing, and maybe someone who wants to be a clown would find it interesting. Even if you don’t want to be a clown, it’s something cool to learn about. Today I am going to be telling you about the history of clowns and how people’s view on them has changed over time. First, I will explain where clowns came from and what they did back then, second, I will talk about the sad clown, and finally, I will talk about scary clowns. I chose this topic because I used to be afraid of clowns, but eventually I grew out of that phase and took interest in anything horror-related.

After sitting in my room for a while, I decided to take one last tour around my entire house, my innocent 9-year old self desperately trying to fight back tears. I was not ready. I was not ready to say goodbye, for it was in this house that my father had surprised my mother by painting the patio a brilliant red as an anniversary gift; it was in this house in which our little 3-person family had huddled around the wood fireplace for warmth when the power went out for three days; and it was in this house that we had celebrated countless birthdays and holidays, the fondest of memories resting in the nooks and crannies of this residence. Everything had a story. Everything spoke to me. Every scratch, dent, and marking had its own anecdote and the walls seemed to sound faint echos of the laughter and joy that had once enveloped them. But all of this was soon to disappear, and my father and I left the house, locked the front door for the very last time, and made a long walk down the driveway, trying not to look back.

A few months later I met my best friend Valentina who lived right across the street. We would always have the best time together. Whether it was playing with our little Claire's makeup or making cookies we would always have a good time. It finally started feeling like home again and I didn’t really think about my old life. But as soon as it started to feel like home again I had to move. My best friend Valentina had moved back to Peru so I wasn’t really bothered by the idea of moving since all the good times I had with her were gone. I remember packing up the house and moving into an actual house. I was so excited to move into that little grey three bedroom house. I lived in that house for multiple years and I had a lot of good times there. I didn’t really have a

Cringing I noticed the blood that stained the carpet after my sister cut the tip of her finger off in the door hinge. (We cleaned that carpet so many times but not all of it came out) As I made my way to my room I remembered the family pictures that used to hang on wall. Looking around my room it started to sink in that I will never see this room again. The walls still had the pin holes from when I had hung up my High School Musical Posters in the 3rd grade. “Hey turd let’s go!” my brother, Justin, yelled. “Don’t tell me what to do!” I replied even though I knew I better listen to him. As we were walking out of the house for last time my heart was breaking. We would never get to carve pumpkins in the dining room or dye Easter eggs in the kitchen. I know we can do all of those things at the new house but it wasn’t going to be the same. The front yard where we used to flag football is getting smaller as we drive away. Soon all I can see is the city I once lived in. Silently saying goodbye i turn around in my seat and get ready for the long drive.

I pulled up to my building, this was the first place I rented three years ago. With the life I live, there was always uncertainty of when I would get to go home. It seemed pointless to pay rent or a mortgage for a nicer place that I would never get to enjoy. It was small, a kitchenette that I never used, a small closet that my clothes over flowed out of. A tiny yellow bathroom, a bed and a TV. That 's all I had, I never bought anything new because there was nowhere to put it and I would never get to use it. I spent most of my time at Nick 's house, hotels or the studio then I did my place, I walked in and it looked dull and barren. I changed into some comfortable clothes and plopped on the couch. I turned on the TV that had no cable, and found nothing to watch. So I put in a movie, after the movie ended I decided to order food. When I looked at my phone I had a text message from Nick.

That’s how it all started my mother was tired of living the same routine everyday. She one day came across a close friend who was telling her how happy she was to be out of Los Angeles with her new career. A new job was offered to my mother in Coalinga so she agreed. Then, it hit me that we were going to have to move, but I was barely going to enter second grade and even a chance to get the same class with one of my cousins. I couldn’t imagine living 4 hours away from my family. That’s all I had at school my three cousin’s who were my only friends. I remember my mom coming into my room and telling that moving was going to be a better opportunity for us to have a brighter future also, that we were going to get a huge house. But I knew a huge house