Descriptive Essay - I Walk The Hallway

And all of a sudden we hear the high winds screeching creepily from outside our house, the branches were loudly scratching and scraping against the house loudly. As I looked around I got more and more freaked out. There were boxes everywhere creating shadows from our flashlight and creating darkness that the flashlight couldn't fill. My entire family was scared, as scared as a chipmunk would be if a lion was in it’s tree. My Dad was searching for something in a sea of darkness, my mom trying to comfort my now crying siblings with a horrifying worried look on her face and me thinking to myself, When will it be done, what damage will it do and Oh No. As I thought I heard something crack from outside of my house, and then

For once I felt the sudden need to be near other people, so I headed for the door quickly. The street was deserted. Strewn across the road were all my belongings. Why were they here and not in my cardboard box where I slept in Well Street? Who had done this? Were they thieves? Not that I had much to steal. I began gathering everything up. My blankets had been shredded. There were dents in things, bits pulled off other things and generally messed with. Even the things that used to be usefully were destroyed. Why would anyone even bother to do this? As I looked at my surroundings I began to feel a little disorientated. The ground seemed to move. Then I felt distinctly uneasy. Was he back? At a distance I thought I could see people so I hurried in their direction but they never seemed to get nearer. At once, I was then surrounded by them! No faces! They’ve got no faces! I closed my eyes and when I opened them the people were gone. I suddenly felt as if I was being watched. I glanced around furtively and out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a lion! I screamed but it was gone. As I again looked around I thought I could see dozens of pairs of eyes behind every window staring at me malevolently. I turned and ran. Breathlessly, I re-entered the church and slammed the door behind me.

At the age of fourteen Bonnie Phillips, (my grandfathers daughter) had moved out with her boyfriend Michael James Coyle because she was pregnant. My grandfather tried to get her to stay home, but my mother wouldn’t. My mother then had my brother at the age of fifteen, then later at the age of eighteen was having me in 1997. I really knew my grandfather that well because of this situation. I seen him every once

       I may not remember every moment I had with my biological parents, but I know my dad was always on a short fuse, and one day, he blew up. I actually find it coincidental now how I never liked him to begin with. Even when I was that age, I never let him carry me on his shoulders or toss me in the air like any normal and loving dad

Growing up in Puerto Rico, my biological father was in and out of jail for failing to obey the court rules. As a result, my mother became my mom and dad. Although I had to experience that, I was a straight A student all throughout elementary school.

When I was a three week old newborn, Social Services decided that my mother and father were no longer fit to raise my sister and I. My mother was an alcoholic who would soon be in prison, my father was not yet an American citizen, and my parents were in the midst of a divorce. Instead of allowing my sister and I to be split up and sent to separate foster homes, my grandparents brought us into their home for what was intended to be a temporary length of time. This temporary length of

I am a 14 year old girl who needs to have their father. When I hear that I immediately think about the father I wish that I had. If you mean mine, does that mean the one who abused me and blamed me and my innocent mother for his drinking and smoking problem? I knew that my mom had made the right choice because 4 months later, he told me that he was moving to Arkansas to get away from me because I was not his first priority anymore. Wow. That shot me down. Thank God I have my mother. I wouldn’t be where I am without her. She comforted me, and told me that what he said was not true. That I am a wonderful person who is beautiful, kind and has a big heart. I needed that in the moment for

It was dark and alone and I felt the need to cry. One by one everyone I have ever loved showed up. My mom, my sister, my late girlfriend, my grandma… I could go on. Their eyes were on me and only me. I was the only stimulus in the room. The yelled at me. I was irrational . I had put them in a situation where they didn’t even know me anymore. I was the monster under the bed and I was the reason why people were scared. They yelled so loud to the point where I didn’t even know if they were screams anymore.

“Caitlin, it’s good to see you again,” Jessie Wells said to me as I signed into the hospital, it seemed sad that I had been there so much the staff knew my name.

I do not know my real dad just my mom and step dad even though I considered my step dad my real dad because he has always been there for me he paid my college and got me a brand new 2011 Ford F-150 when I graduated from high school so I could drive myself to college and he never asked for the truck back after I left the house, neither did I pay him for it or the college money

mother met my step-father a couple years after. Since then, I could say he’s been the greatest father ever. I was growing up with him, and I always viewed him as being my real father. I never had that father figure till he came. I mean I love him because he had the guts to accept my mother with a child. He turned out to be a good role model for me. He taught me morals and values, something my other father never told me. My step-father loves my mother. Both of them struggled economically at first, but they worked hard to raise me right and become the person they want me to become. I remember my step-father telling me that everything will turn out right. He wasn’t like other step-fathers who abuse their children.

It started with a chill, each vertebrae vibrating one by one up my spine. Then the heat, my face flush and palms clammy. I could never keep up with my breathing, for it seemed as though each time I breathed out, I needed more air almost immediately. Soon, my mind was flooded with unsettling images, a new one appearing nearly every second, each worse than the last. Everything that I found comfort in was now an enemy. When will this end? My body could not keep up with the trembles and I could not resist the urge to scream. Was this room always so small? My eyes grew indecisive, darting across the room, until the capillaries within them bulged so greatly that I clenched my eyelids shut. Then, a long, deep breath.

I never really knew my father when I was growing up. I was raised by my mother and my little brother's side of the family. My own family was across the ocean in California. By the time I was nine I

One day, while my grandmother was reading the daily newspaper I asked, “Grandmother, why do you not talk about my mother at all?”

The place where I feel the most comfortable, and show my personality, is my bedroom. This is the place where I can really be myself and do what I want; it’s the place I come home to, and wake up every day. My room makes me feel comfortable because it is my own space. My house is always crazy, with my dog barking, and my siblings running around making noise, my room is the only place in the house where I can come and relax without caring about everything else, the only place that I can go to clear my mind.