Descriptive Essay On Gwilan's Home

She took a quick look around the last turn before the main street that led to the school. She noticed several boys and girls in the alleyways on both sides of the narrow street. It looked as if every class at her school, several young ladies and even her teacher waited for her in ambush. She ducked back before they could see her, hiked up her dress, and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her in the opposite direction of the angry mob. She didn’t stop until she had found the forest path that she needed and breathed a sigh of relief when she heard no one in pursuit. The forest surroundings felt different for some reason and it frightened her. It had a forbidding feel to it this dawn like she had never felt in the past.

Her breath shown in the cold moist air of the lake side. She quickened her pace, dashing from one underbrush to the next, twigs and branches scratching at her face as if begging for her to take them away with her from this wretched land, her breathing became increasingly vigorous. Her limbs grew heavy as more and more mud started to cling to her boots as if also wanting to go with her and the distance she had to cover seemed to become more and more. She started to think she couldn’t go on anymore, except for one reason and one reason only. The warm infant wrapped in blankets and cloth started to become heavier and heavier in her arms as she felt her body starting to fail her. But she couldn’t stop she had to get her baby to safety. As the sound of dogs barking and the hooves of horses and the screams of soldiers yelling,” She went this way!” “No this way!” The ever growing thought of are they going to find me, did I do all this just to get

The door shut behind him and Georgaina walked down the steep, grassy hill. She was near the bottom when a pain, familiar to her, ripped through her abdomen like a dull, serrated knife. She collapsed, gasping for breath and clutching her stomach. Slowly, after what felt to her like hours, the pain went from a sharp knife to a dull ache. Tears had filled her eyes and she blinked them back as she stood cautiously, not trusting her own legs. She took a deep breath, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other, determined to get to the forest that lay around the hill. Her head pounded, but she figured she would worry about it

The sun broke through the grey and breathed life into the awakening city. The woman’s eyes though opened, were empty and moved accordingly to the flock of doves that soared through the chilled air. She gazed at the beautifully choreographed dance above where delicate wings formed prominent silhouettes against the comforting rays. The ancient apple tree which only last month was a mess of unruly twigs and withered leaves had now flourish into a bounty of lively red apples that heralded the Springtime. The richness of the sanctuary generated distant and painful memories in her head like the scenes of a tragic movie. She could still picture the remorseful look in the man’s eyes during his last breath. Her father, a man of ambitions and responsibilities, was not the father to throw her into the sky and tell her how much he loved

She decided to look down for the rest of the walk after getting glared at by a passerby. As she was watching her feet and skipping over the cracks in the pavement, something had yanked the back of her jacket. Whipping around, Becca saw a shambled family. They were tan and soaking wet; their cardboard home shaped the background of the frightening portrait Becca was faced with. A wave of angry words, desperate words confronted her, echoing without meaning her mind. The mother of the two children fell to her knees weeping, pleading for something Becca would never exactly know. The daughter, the girl Becca realized pulled her jacket, stared at her. Dark chocolate colored eyes were melting with the heat of her pain and her brittle lips smoked with the speed of her pleading words. Becca was being pulled away unknowingly when she heard a familiar rumble coming from the pit of the girl’s stomach. And just as soon as the encounter had happened, it was over. Concern replaced the sound of desperation and she let her family know she was fine. She went back to looking at her feet. In a couple of minutes, Becca’s family arrived at the

“The knocking ceased suddenly, although the echoes of it were still in the house. He heard the chair drawn back, and the door opened. A cold wind rushed up the staircase, and a loud long wail of disappointment and misery gave him courage to run down to her side, and then to the gate beyond. The street light flickering opposite shone on a quiet deserted road.”

The following morning the crisp air and golden sun flowed brilliantly into her room through the open window. The posts of the window where scratched up wood with an old part of a blond colored sheet covering it. Her sleepy eyes blinked slowly as the day began. After a whole evening and morning with the thought of school, a tornado of yes, no, maybe, and back again spiraling around. This went on about the dreary feeling morning. Her usual smile upside down and the sides drooping far down. When she finally got up and out of the rickety, springy feeling frame of the puffy stuffing, cloud like bed. Hesitantly climbing down the ladder

Alessa woke up in a panic. Sweat was dripping from her face and her breathing was rapid. She looked down at her hands which were clenched onto the sheets on either side of her. She looked back up through her bedroom window which stretched from floor to ceiling. Outside the moonlight brightened the jagged peaks of the snowy mountains which overlooked the city of Athens. The snow that was falling made shadows on the floor and walls of her bedroom. Wind blew through the crack in the window and the drapes that hung from the top of her bed fluttered around her. Alessa inhaled deeply and then exhaled while taking in her surroundings. Her fingers unclenched from her sheets and her heart rate had slowly steadied. She intended to keep her mind blank,

Riah hesitantly entered her house hold as the cold fall air trailed in from outside. The house was completely empty with the exception of a small dog that refused to stop barking. Following the same dull routine, in the same dull house. An overpowering smell of rice filled the room, much to her dismay. Riah pulled out folders, notebooks, and a pen; steadily drowning herself in the incomplete work from the day.No matter how many lights were on, or how loud she played the music, her home still seemed to hold an eerie silence.

It had been another beautiful day in Ireland. The sun was shining, and everything seemed to be perfect. A small girl from a small village was walking home from school. Her name was Molly. She was eleven years of age, had flaming red hair, and a face full of freckles. Her family consisted of three people. Her mother, her father, and her. She was poverty-stricken, but always tried to find the silver lining in things. She was in bright sprits, considering she had aced a challenging test that day. She arrived at her home, hoping that her mother had had a equally enjoyable day as she had. But nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to face. As the old front door to what Molly called home squeaked open, she heard the sound of hard

Absalom lifted into the air with a beat of his black wings and Nutasha squirreled her way inside a spacious knothole on Mabel's trunk just as a Thundersnow storm swept down the valley from the Mountains. The land settled beneath a crystal blanket that reflected the moonglow so well it lit the valley up as bright as day. And all was quiet but for the Weeping of the Willow who cried herself to

The girl bolted to the door, eyes darting wildly through the smoke-filled room. The flames licked at her heels as she ran, barefoot, out the front door of the once friendly dwelling. She panted, her glazed eyes looking back at her former home. Her small body collapsed onto the pavement, tears crashing down her tanned face. She heard the muffled cries from her parents in still inside. The parents she couldn’t protect. The parents she killed.

A golden light shines through the apartment windows. After drawing open the last curtain, Elowen rests on the window seat and places her breakfast on an unpacked cardboard box. She watches the aftermath of the morning storm cover the city below in a thick, shiny glaze. These are her favourite mornings, when her mother works an early shift. Something about waking up in a quiet house gives her a sense of peacefulness.

The wind howled through the window, threatening to break it in with every gust. The girl sat all alone in a dark room, huddling her legs, gazing out the window, waiting for the storm to pass. If anyone had walked into the room at that moment they would have noticed the girl, who looked around 12 years old, her messy, brown hair clearly hadn’t been washed or brushed in several days. They would have noticed the tattered clothes she was wearing, the dirt covering her skin, her stick skinny limbs which showed how little she ate and the bruises that looked a few days old all over her tiny body including one near her left eye making it difficult for her to see. And, if someone had cared enough, they would have noticed the look of pure fear and exhaustion in her eyes and seen the tears streaming down her face.

THERE was something strange on the wind that day; the day that Ellie Kate Marchand found the invitation to the ball. As she walked home from the market, her basket weighing heavily on her arm, she could sense an odd change in the winds. They were blowing in several different directions all at once, seeming to signal the shifting of an allegiance. She couldn’t say why exactly, but she felt that it was tugging at her skin, pulling her hair loose from her cap. A foul smell drifted off the river, like the stench of old, dead fish. The winds still scurried this way and that, tangling her hair and rattling her nerves. But Ellie took a deep breath, opened the iron gates, and then lifted the lid on their post box, pulling out the envelopes that