Descriptive Essay On Hyde Day

Curious, I looked up at the building and suddenly my heart stopped. My muscles contracted and my nerves sent a violent quake through my body. I didn’t notice the dropped cigarette that was burning a hole in my pants. Finally, the pain bit me. I grabbed the cigarette, throwing it out the window while almost swerving off the road. After regaining control, I closed my eyes and reopened them to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating; I wasn‘t. Ten police cars sat in front of the school, all in a perfect line with their drivers standing close-by. I contemplated driving off but it was too late. We had already been spotted.

Life would be an easy journey without guilt or consequences, wouldn’t it? The lure of a guiltless conscience entices Jekyll because day in and day out Jekyll walks the chalk of a morally good human but the monotony of his daily activities bores him. This thrilling lifestyle pushes him to the create his potion and thus Hyde. Dr. Jekyll is “pushing the envelope” in the science field, separating man’s two natures, and finally walking off the chalk line without the consequences.

It is a common trope to say that an addict becomes a “different person” when he consumes his particular poison. “Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” is the story of an addict whose inebriated self just happens to have a different name. It does not matter what the solution he drinks for his transformation is supposed to represent, whether alcohol, opium, heroin, or some other substance—he checks off every box for addictive and self destructive behavior. There can be no clearer interpretation of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” than that it is a polemic against the prevalent usage of drugs and alcohol in England at the time of its writing.

The streets of Michigan Ave. were lined with people and their children as they hurriedly rush down the sidewalks. Taxis were beeping their horns, trying to get people’s attention, men and women were just getting off of work after a long day. The sky was a light blue and white puffy clouds were spotted in the sky, there was a light breeze in the air. The water under the bridge splashed lightly against the walls, it was hard to hear over the excited chatter of the people over top of the bridge. You could smell the smoke from the cars but also there was a faint smell of popcorn from a nearby popcorn vendor cart, shops and hotels filled in what the people and cars didn’t, it was truly a beautiful sight.

Every time I close my eyes and take a deep breath, I can hear the repetitious honking of the taxi drivers, fed up with the incessant New York traffic. I can feel the soft wind blowing through the tallest trees in Central Park, lightly blowing my hair in every direction. I can smell the grease from innumerable hotdog carts, strolling their way up and down 85th Street, desperate for business. I can see the blinking traffic lights, and the countless men, women and children, all looking like they belong in New York. I wanted to be like them. I can remember everything, from the stickers on the crosswalk signs, to the name of the cluttered antique shop. I see all of these things as if they were scenes from my favorite movie. The vacation I took to New York City, the summer before I started high school, has changed my life forever.

As the perspiration beaded on my forehead and dripped down my face, the heat bounced back off the streets causing a tactical illusion that the temperature outside seemed to be increasing with each heartbeat. As my parents walked towards the what seemed to be the endless walkway, Myla and I followed. I could hear Myla pant as her tongue swung from side to side in effort to keep cool. “Are we there, yet?” I asked my parents with an agonizing tone. “We are!” they responded quickly. With those two words, my 10-year-old eyes, enlarged in order to catch a glimpse of what I had waited for all

One day Mrs. Johnson awoke from her routine, leisurely afternoon nap. She stood, stretching her arms clear to the ceiling. She was thinking about what she was going to do for the rest of the day. Once she concluded what to do she put on one of her favorite outfits. This put a huge smile on her face and a hop in her step. She opens the door and inhales the refreshing smell of New York City. She glances around taking in the vibrant colors of the flowers on her porch and the laughter of nearby children. She is absolutely positive that this afternoon will be perfect.

The walls were a familiar shade of black that had been hugging her body her entire life. As a young child, she had banged on these walls, kicked the structure which seemed to be mocking her, making it pay, until one of the lab coat men told her calmly, “The walls are your friend. You don’t hurt friends.” The young child stared up with defiance, her face contorted with disgust, her knuckles bloody from hitting. “Friends aren’t supposed to suffocate you,” she said with anger. Since the day her parents disappeared, she had not once seen daylight outside. She had never felt the grass underneath her feet, and she never got to complain about the sun’s radiating heat. Instead, she had to swallow up the sun and let it start a furnace inside of her,

As we just arrived in Washington my legs felt uncomfortable once I up from waiting for a joyful time. I’ve been lingering all day for this moment, a tremendous time with my friends and spend time with my mother. I was curious, the colorful amazement of the city. It was the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen. My group reunited around me like I was a king. My group contained two of my friends. Priscilla, and David were both in the group, so was my mother. We trotted to the bench seats to eat our lunch, hundreds of people gathered around without a bench. We were lucky to get a seat. We ate our delicious, tasty lunch. Which consumed of a bag of Doritos, Lunchable, a Coke, and Takis. Birds were flying around us, like a tornado trying to steal our scrumptious, delicious food. After we ate our lunch, we met up with Jacob’s group.

In the morning at the 7 o’clock, I went to the city hall park, which is located in front of the Pace University. The humid and exhilarating wind pass through my body, even mine mind, they are telling me, the raining just passing by the night.

When my eyes cleared I was able to once again focus on my watch. A rare show of emotion in the form of a “Holy Crap” flew out of my mouth. I realized it was already 4:30 in the afternoon and the kid’s flight will touch ground at Albany International Airport in less than an hour. All of a sudden, a panic driven adrenalin rush came upon me. The drive from Siena College to the airport takes twenty five minutes and the roads are usually overcrowded because it’s a Friday afternoon. But today is not in any way ordinary. Today is Getaway Friday. After their final

I was sitting in the airport waiting with my heart filled with adrenaline, skies looking clear, and the sun shining brightly. Going to Maine to a teen camp was very exciting but I could not help getting goosebumps thinking about all the new faces I will have to encounter. Quietly I asked myself how can this trip be more intimidating? Being away from my family was painful and four hours of travelling was supreme torture. I was nervous, sweating, and contemplating the thought of returning home where I truly belong. Nonetheless, the moment for me to depart had arrived. Placing my suitcase in the trunk was melancholic but necessary. Complete discomfort covered my whole body during the two-hour ride because the thought of living with fourteen strangers for a month was not something that I was prepared for. Being far from home meant deleting the ability to be myself, taking away my comfort zone, and becoming mute.

Rain fell from the sky humidifying the soil. The day did not seem like ones lived before, days that belong now to my past. People ran swiftly across the sidewalks trying to get to their offices, homes, or just a place to stand for a few minutes and not be drenched by the falling downpour. Hailstones hit the ground with severity; water flowed along the street, coming down the steep mountain, where a sequence of modern and recently constructed ten-story buildings stood silently. From my apartment the splendid and astonishing view of a city with more than one million people dominated the front section; at the back, the relaxing sight of nature and old trees created a welcoming and loosening up sensation. All these were located in one

London awoke on a Sunday morning to the sound of car horns and sirens. Almost every day, London’s busy traffic always blared up to her in her flat, and after checking the clock, she noticed that it was 7:56 a.m. Rising out of bed for the day, London walked over to her kitchen to make a cup of, her favorite, Earl Grey tea. After the teapot made it’s classic “hissssss” of being done, her London Metropolitan Police mug, that she borrowed from work, meet steaming hot water. After plopping a few tea bags, she made her way to her balcony and sat down. In the bright and clear London morning, London saw a lot of the historical city from her perch on the 30th floor of her apartment tower. The Olympic Park that London personally admired was

“Ally! Ari! Come on it’s time to go!” My dad called. “Coming!” we yelled, I grabbed my two duffel bags filled with half of my closet. We ran down the stairs and to our dad who was waiting by the front door. “Ready?” he asked with a warm smile I nodded and we hopped in the car. I was not excited. I’ve never been to a camp and I keep imagining the worse. -----------