Descriptive Essay: My Racing Heart

Imagine, if you will, a brisk night wind coming fast across a lake carrying a pungent smell, something you can’t quite identify, but is nonetheless familiar enough to send a shiver up your spine. As it hits the trees, they creak out a somber call in the still night air. Or was that groan something more…human? You notice, for the first time, the absence of tires humming on pavement and you wonder if it’s that late, or maybe just a slow night. The soft tapping of your shoes on the sidewalk is the only accompaniment your slow breathing has as you move towards the warmth of your home, holding thoughts of a warm bed in the palm of your hand to keep the chill away. You don’t notice at first, perhaps because the reality of what you’re hearing is

The boy lay there next to his father keeping each other warm from the chilling atmosphere where they set camp. The air was so moist it turned the dirt into damp mud and the boy could feel his sleeping bag submerge into it. The intimidating glare of an owl examining him sent a tingle up his spine. The sounds of bugs chiming filled the ambience, killing the silence giving him a sense of security. He looked up at the twilight sky illuminated by the blinding shimmer of the full moon gleaming through the forest trees over him. Surrounding it was an array of glimmering stars prompting the sky alive. As his body grew accustomed to the environment, each natural attribute gave him comfort and allowed him to slowly fall into a deep sleep.

A morbid melancholy stole over me. Anxiety gnawed at my heart. I was a living corpse. There was a feeling of chill in the air every day as I felt. I faked illness so as not to go to school. Despair hangs heavy in the stifling air. It was a dreary day for me , cold and without sunshine. I dread people and always avoid people. The door was locked from the inside. A cold grey light crept under the curtains. The windows were secured with locks and bars. The room felt cold and sterile.The flowers faded for want of water. A single lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The clock ticked louder and louder in a quiet room. I regarded the room as a refuge from the outside

Evan watched the scenery flow by in a blur of color. His eyes grew heavy and the pounding in his head was unbearable. The train rocketed through mile after mile of undulating prairie grasses. Touched by the colors of autumn, the fields glowed like fire. The monotonous view and rocking train soon caused the boy to give into the sleep he both craved, and feared. And again he dreamed…

Chalk flying on our bruised shins and flip flop tanned, callused feet, as the ball kept bouncing. Up and up and up we go, passing houses one at a time. The ground scorching our unclipped toes as we race the cars up the street to the shaded part of the sidewalk. Pausing, only to catch our breath we wasted on hill sprints up to cooler ground, until we realize what we're stepping on. Sap as sticky as gum that has been sitting out in the sun all day, slowly dripping from the Pine tree hanging above us as if it knew the pain we were in. Out of the shade we went, dreading what lies ahead all thinking about the logic behind not wearing shoes. Finally turned the corner that led to the shaded cul de sac when he ran into her. She was not one of those ordinary neighbors. No smile rest upon this gut wrenching face that I remember from my

Death is inevitable; this concept is easy to understand. The story Tell-Tale Heart written by Edgar Allen Poe describes the narrator’s insurmountable fear of death. A fear that haunts him day and night, driving him to rid himself of death itself by means of premeditated murder. By attentively conceiving a plan with a clear motive, the narrator commits the horrendous crime acutely knowledgeable of the dire consequences he may suffer.

My brain clasping by stress became weighty, and the room seems like spinning. Slowly I dragged myself up from my chair and walked toward my bed. By the chilly floor the cold penetrated through my feet to my body. Finally, I arrived to my hard wooden bed and I throw myself and let myself sink through and disappear. Haltingly turning my head toward the window the marvelous sunset mixed with pink, blue, yellow, and other more colors appeared before me and through the sky the sparrows dashed and sang with there own alluring

Joyfully, she embraces the sound that 's deafening in the still of the moment. She’s on another pathway made of crudely poured blacktop, it twists and winds in parallel with the sidewalk, to her right is a rusty chain link fence, decorated with carefully designated shrubs of dark green foliage and deep fuchsia blossoms. Behind and below the oxidized barrier is a man made canal, flowing with an algae inundated stream of chartreuse sludge quickly making its way, undaunted and undisturbed by the collection of debris that line its home. The rivulet is in concordance with the other sounds of nature, inaudibly babbling as it journeys, circumambient the detritus thoroughfare. Closing her voluminous deep brown eyes, merely for an infinitesimal moment, soaking up the life, the sounds, the smells that encompass her. Exhaling deeply, she smiles. Walking further down the path, her new residence is microscopic, left in the distance of her perambulation, one foot over the other, she continues, the wetness is dissipating from the zephyr as the minutes pass. Grateful to soak in these sights and sounds, renewed, as if she is newly born. Theoretically, she truly is. Then, she is lost in nature, lost in thoughts, memories of the past. Her life was much different this time last year, she remembers. Last year she had nothing. She had lost her home again, her family, her hope. There were no walks and no partaking in the everyday joys in life, she was trapped. Trapped in a self

A particular blazing hot summer day was surely one to remember, as it was the one where my dad and I were finally applying the finishing touches to our 1962 Chevy Impala. Beads of sweat trickled down my steaming face as I cranked down a countless number of bolts into the classic automobile for what seemed like all day. As I fastened the final piece of hardware to the newly painted frame I let out a sigh of relief. My dad walked several laps around the car, inspecting every fine detail, to make sure nothing was missing. The moment had ultimately come where he commanded me to climb into the car, insert the key, and crank the engine over. With a little bit of stuttering from the engine, and a couple pumps of the gas, the stallion roared as it burst into life. Plumes of rich exhaust billowed out of the (thankfully) open garage door, the machine purring like a well nourished feline. The only way to describe my emotion was like a puppy after its owner gives it a new toy, all I wanted to do was play with it. Adrenaline rushed through me as the cold leather seat stuck to my perspired back, and at that instant, I knew all the gruelling work had been well worth it.

The wintry air howled through the shivering trees with branches blanketed in white. The trees stood like unfinished artworks, as if they yearned for the return of an artist's touch. The damp air sank into my limbs, reducing my nerves to absolute nothingness. The Sun rose above me in the uniformity of grey, as if it was death's hungry maw seeking me everywhere. Its radiation was reflected by the snow beneath me, therefore warmth eluded my being. This is the place where time is not existent. This is the place where days before and

“All you have to do is keep driving, Stephanie. I don’t know what else to tell you,” my mother sputtered to me. “Just keep driving. All we have to do is get home,” my mother continued, uncertainty and nervousness resonating from her voice, as our rickety and rusted 1997 Toyota Corolla screeched to a halt at the traffic light that loomed red overhead. The engine was rumbling causing the entire car to shake. I sat anxiously behind the wheel and peered out of the corner of my eye only to catch my mother swaying slightly back and forth to the movement of the malfunctioning motor.

I lay in bed tossing and turning as I struggled to take a breath. My pink cotton nightgown with white lace trim was soaked with urine and sweat. My bed, positioned against the wall enabled me to see out the window onto the desert landscape of my backyard. Nothing of significance grew out there but low-lying prickly pear and scrub brushes. Tumbleweeds blew haphazardly around the rocky barren landscape that stretched out over the acre of land. In the evening, I would watch the baby blue sky blaze with reddish orange clouds that never brought rain. The heat would slowly recede and a cool gentle breeze would playfully move the curtain around my window frame.

The cardiac events that take place from the beginning of the heart beat to the beginning of the next one are called as the Cardiac Cycle. There are three main phases in the cycle that we will discuss below:

Is your heart racing at night? Does it wake you up from sleep or keep you from falling asleep? If your heart is pounding almost every night, you may need to see a doctor for proper diagnosis and treatment. But if it happens only occasionally, then it may not be a serious problem. However, you may want to learn what causes fast heartbeat at night, so here’s some information for you.

An intruder had entered the town that was engulfed by a dark fog. Even the moonlight struggled to break through it, but his headlights blared through the air piercing through the seemingly impenetrable haze. It was an insensitive gesture towards the quiet town where not a soul stirred with the exception of the sleepless few. In the distance an old lady struggled for air, half waking from a nightmare, half from the disease that was breaking her. She fell in and out of sleep until she finally lay to rest. It filled her with peace…