Descriptive Essay On A Friday Night

Traveling is one of my family’s favorite things to do. The family has visited numerous places throughout the United States, however, none are as memorable as Atlanta, Georgia. In Atlanta, there are many places to go and sights to see such as: Cola-cola factory, Cabbage Patch Kids Factory, Under Ground Mall, the Zoo, Atlanta Braves Stadium, Six Flags Over Georgia, Stone Mountain Park, and the Atlanta Aquarium, are all in or near the city of Atlanta. The three that we visit on every trip to Atlanta are Six Flags, Stone Mountain, and the Atlanta Aquarium.

How Alice made it through the madness of Wonderland is something I’ll never understand. My Sunday had already been a topsy-turvy nightmare since the moment I woke up: Texts from people who had no business having my number, a family emergency that called me away from my lover, and the desperate need of an actual shower--morning sex is good and all but not when you’ve left your honey lavender body wash at home. So when the red and blue swirl of cop lights blinded me through my rearview window, I knew we—my sister and her friend were in the car as well—were fucked.

Silence. It was too quiet for a Manhattan neighborhood. My eyes slowly opened, welcoming sunlight in, as I looked around my room, I strained my ears to catch for any sounds. I decided to get up and figure out why our usually bustling neighborhood went from noisy to quiet. Walking down the stairs, I was welcomed to a totally destroyed living area, all my furniture against the door, all my windows boarded up with multiple nails pierced into the board. Creeping towards my kitchen, all my belonging looked as though it had not been touched. Opening the oak cabinets, I noticed all my food was in place, including my box of chocolate granola bars, with four left. Grabbing one, I leaned against the counter, my eyes glancing towards the daily newspaper crumpled on the floor. Bending down

I was given a special task: to “persuade” a businessman named Carl to buy more of our alcohol so he could sell it in his bar. Everyone made it seem like a simple enough task, so I did not worry too much. The man’s neighborhood was deserted. No one in sight and no one in ear shot. This was familiar; it reminded me of my own neighborhood. I knew the kind of amount of fear felt to clear the roads when gangsters were coming. The thought of the fear in those people’s minds; so much fear, they decided to hide away in their homes and practically lock their business doors; sent chills up and down my entire being, especially because I have known that fear all too well. The roads were so deserted I could hear the sound of my own heartbeat, which was racing unlike any other. When we finally arrived at our destination, my heart seemed to slow, as if the only thing worrying me was the drive over.

In this paper, I will be talking about an average night’s rest cycle and how an absence of rest can affect one’s capacity to learn and that individual’s wellbeing. Rest assumes a crucial part healthy and prosperity. Lack of sleep is connected to diminish physical wellbeing, psychological well-being, and scholastic execution.

It was a bitter autumn day in upper town New York and on top of Times Tower, perched a girl her long auburn hair was dancing like the shadows of trees in the dusk of a windy day. She sat inhaling the thick, grey smoke from her cigarette, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her thick black eyeliner was smudged, but even that could not disguise the wisdom she hid behind her eyes. Deep in the pockets of her long, black trench coat her phone started to ring. She snatched out the phone, glanced at the screen and groaned. She knew it would be the same call she had received every school day at 6:30, for the past 10 months.

At about six o'clock in the evening, a large group of African-American teenage boys came sprinting through the park screaming, “They’re shootin’! They’re shootin’!” I looked around desperately. Our campers began running into homes as a man with a rifle passed no more than fifteen feet in front of me. He was approaching another man who was shooting into a house. “Pop, pop pop!”, The bullets ripped apart the building as I sprinted towards a young child sitting on a tarp. Nobody had a clue what was transpiring. My group mate and I pulled him up and we ran furiously towards a mother’s frantically outstretched arms. As I ran, I fell twice. Those two falls felt like the last moments of my life. Finally in the house, I shook uncontrollably as I took

Willow was excited to go to the beach with Evelyn. They were going to have a fun time there. The day was sunny and hot. The water was going to be cool against their hot skin. There were some clouds in the sky and a slight breeze. Evelyn parked her car and they both got out. When they got to the end of the cement stairs, Willow started to run to a shady spot in a secluded part of the beach. Evelyn started running to try to catch up. When they both got to the shade, Willow threw down her t-shirt, shorts, and towel onto the sand. Then she took off her sandals and set them near her towel. Evelyn put her towel down then laid her shorts, shirt, and shoes on top of it.

It was the second night of the stars covering me like a cape and the definite smell of the wilderness filling my nose. The darkness of the night was a crow that swooped down and surrounded the backdrop of Haliburton forest that was illuminated just hours earlier. All of the vibrantly painted trees were turned into ghostly silhouettes and the cabins that lined the street disappeared, victim of the darkness. The light that came through the gap between the window and the curtain tried to open my eyes like a crowbar prying open my shut lids. The stars were like effulgent slivers of silver that freckled the spill of ink that was the sky and engulfed the burning trees of bonfire reds and golds. The lively capriccio and leaf-carpeted floor of the forest were hushed by the night. The darkness melted the day like the sea melts castles of sand. I turned on my side, the warmth of my sleeping bag making me flushed. I felt the heat rising underneath my eyes and I looked around the cabin. Right above me was a wooden plank however it looked just like a contour to me, just like most of the other things in the room. Right beside me was a window which had its curtain slightly agar so I could see the stars outside. On the right was a lone, empty wooden shelf and beside it, another bunk bed where my friends Alyana and Erica were sleeping. Anavi was sleeping above me and her snoring resonated in the room, but that wasn't what was keeping me awake. A certain restlessness was taking over me and

The point of life is to essentially fill up one's predetermined goals and live a happy life but the Nazis made sure to ensure the opposite and waste key years and even lives due to their intolerance of the Jews. When Elie got sent to the camps, he described it as a long night. He has been shown many deaths right next to him, which is derailing to see as a human with such hope in the future. This affected Elie’s feelings by changing what he really believed in and his actions thereafter. Since Elie’s hopes has practically been vanished by the views he sees at the camp, his “light” closes, thus having a long, dark time at the camps. The description of night is long, dark, and scary at times which all are good descriptors of the concentration camps, thus making the concentration camp simply a long Night. In the historical memoir, Night, Elie Wiesel used the term night to be paired up with darkness to fully exhibit how it affected Elie physically, mentally, and religiously.

Painting the warm tangerine Indian sky, the sun retreats for the day. A swirling mist envelopes the cacophony of the city, ushers in a soothing touch to a highly humid atmosphere. The zephyrs simultaneously clear the bituminous asphalt by stealing away decayed leaves and wilted petals. They whirl around, lingering as if caught in a vicious catfight, to finally disappear into the vast unknown. The silhouette of the sinking sun descends faultlessly into the almost placid lake, its waters stirred only by the symmetrical synchronization of paddling ducks.

Every Christmas, my family goes on a snowboarding trip to Colorado. We stay for a week in the beautiful city of Breckenridge. On Christmas eve of 2016, my family awoke to one of the most beautiful and visually pleasing days of the year. It was about nine o’clock when I looked out the window and saw the fresh, powdery snow that seemingly floated down from the sky. What a day, I thought to myself. I wondered how I was so lucky as to see such an aesthetic scene after only just waking up. After watching the snow sail gently through the sky for a couple of minutes, I turned around and saw that my family was awake too. We decided to go get some breakfast from the lobby because we wanted to eat before snowboarding. We knew it was going to be a long day.

The school was indeed an escape, and I had thanked god privately for Brendon Larson. I remember his personality vividly; his light humor and big glasses curved my lips for nearly the whole class. Especially anatomy and pathology, who knew the dull human body, could be so funny. He was generous with his happiness and sprayed a thin layer of hope on all of us from the front of the room. I used his humor as an anesthetic from the spiritual growing pains I was encountering.

Ring, ring, ring! It was an ordinary sunny monday morning. Rushing out of bed as usual, throwing on some colour clashing clothing, chugging down my tasteless bowl of oatmeal, and running to school, hoping to make it on time.

To my delight, the final night passed by without my recognition. If I showed discontent, no one disclosed it. In fact, Clyde appeared elated to see me, as he swooped in to plant a kiss on my lips. Consequently, I turned my face away so it landed on my cheek instead. Even then, he made no acknowledgement of my aversion.