Descriptive Essay - Original Letters

Beginning a 12-minute journey, leaving my residence Piedmont North A; I headed to Starbucks. From the speed of the wind to the coolness of the air, I could tell that the season of Fall was finally beginning. The falling leaves of the trees were starting to leave a trail, and as I was beginning to approach the establishment, the aroma of coffee beans was lingering in the air.

Sasha alarm clock rang releasing her of her thoughts of her mother. Sadly she didn’t get any sleep, her eyes itchy and red. She grabbed her phone and turned the alarm off. She took a deep breath and rolled out of bed. She put on her work clothes, brushed her teeth, washed her face and went to the kitchen.

Hi!! Welcome to my next Kellic which I 'm real excited to introduce. I wanted to state real fast that this book is currently titled Trouble - Stripped, but it may change at the end to just Trouble. The reason I might change it is because this book may be able to be twisted into a series, therefore the second book would be titled Stripped.

“Jordyn get up,” yelled my mom. I rolled over to my side and groaned at the sight that it was only eight o’clock. But then I remembered that my cousins were coming to my grandparent’s green and white house this weekend.

“Hey dad can I ride my bike to Audra’s a house to see if hangout today?”, I asked my dad.

It’s a busy Sunday afternoon in Target. The store is full of men, women and children alike. I walk aimlessly through the aisles, casually browsing for products while glancing into another person’s cart. I find myself in the beauty aisle to see if there are any new releases. Now, on an everyday basis, I don’t wear makeup anymore, but I still love to see what’s new for the season. In that aisle, I see other women wandering and scanning the section for new products, just as I am. Not once do I see a man in this section. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a man with a slight mustache wearing a blue baseball cap. He looked very familiar. Oh, I thought, I just saw him walking down every single aisle. Mustache Man walks into the aisle, curiously observing the unfamiliar row of foundation. A few seconds later, I hear a lot of whispering ad muttering. The women chatting beside me looked at him suspiciously, eyeing his presence, as if to say, “Why are you here?” He must have noticed too since his cheeks turned into a natural rosy hue. In a split second, he turned around and bolted out into the next aisle, the toothpaste section, where he browsed the entire aisle before moving on to the next one. Now, he could have quickly walked out of the makeup section for a number of reasons. Maybe he just remembered he needed toothpaste over in the next aisle. Maybe he felt embarrassed being seen as a grown man, aware of the stigma surrounding men like him and feminine products, in the makeup

Calliope sat straight up in a cold sweat her shoulder length hair cling to her head, she panted eyes wide in panic. Her hands clasped over her mouth stifling a scream. Calming down from her momentary hysteria and with a deep breath she examine her surrounding pristine blue above her, deep green grass a long with some wild flowers swayed around her. Standing up on wobbly legs she tried to remember where she was but, her mind drawing a blank on anything beyond her name. Walking down a small slope she saw clear body of water.

Most of the time August in Maine is hot, sticky hot. The kind of hot where as much as you don’t want to you break down and turn the air conditioning on. This mid-August day is the exception. The day before, it rained just enough to break the heat but not enough to make it humid and unbearable. The result is a cool breeze of morning air that comes in through my window and dances delicately with the lace curtains and soft golden rays of the waking sun just beginning to fill my room.

Phillip’s piercing blue eyes stared back at him from his bathroom mirror. He studied his unshaven face and careless physique, and eventually began plucking the graying hairs from his breast and dropping them one by one into the sink. A silent apartment surrounded him, all but the street noise of the locals and trust funders of Bushwick below. He peered down to the sea of hairs from weeks of plucking and itched his red, irritated chest before quickly shuffling to the closet of his apartment. He weaved naked through the clutter of cheap vodka bottles and cigarette butts, whizzing by the takeout pizza boxes piled high on the flower upholstered sofa. He brushed by old photographs of distance, nameless relatives

Don’t get me wrong, I was aware that I was Asian. I had a different culture at home from my friends. They didn’t eat rice nearly as often as I did. They didn’t see chopsticks as just another utensil for the table, but as an exotic tool. They didn’t speak Chinese at home. But race was never something that mattered in elementary school. People weren 't black, white, yellow. They were classmates, friends. That is, until Peter arrived. It was third grade when I began to see through the tinted lens of skin color. As I was the only other Asian boy in the grade, my teachers told me to become friends with the new Chinese kid, to help him. It’s funny, now some would classify that as a microaggression: let the Chinese kid play with another Asian kid. Why can’t the new kid just make his own friends? Regardless, I would spend part recess and after school with Peter, the new kid that was “weird” and had no friends.

Colors are flashing. Faint sounds fill the air. Everything’s a blur, like it’s being swept up by the wind. I try to find my footing and stand up, but I just fall back down again. I try to grasp onto my last memories, searching for answers. The only memory I find is my name. Shailene Fonder.

After calling and asking if her grandfather would mind some company, Melanie showered and changed her clothes. She wanted to look nice and presentable and not dust covered from being in the apartment that had been locked up for over a couple of weeks. Being dropped off at the cottage in Homewood, she climbed the stairs and knocked on the door.

I grabbed his arm and pulled it to mine "And if you love me the way i love you you 'll stay here......" he shook his head and i felt him brush my hair from my face "Tk.........let me go..." it wasn 't an angry let me go it was I 'm sorry but you have let me go "No... If you want to go take me with you." im crazy i thought as i looked up at him. More tears fell from his face. He cried beautifully without the ugly puffed lips and blotchy skin but just tears. Glassy eyes with tears of fire and ice it seemed the way the light hit them. Tears that fell onto his skin, perfectly tan and strangely nice against the almost redness of his hair. I hated to think so but he was amazing in the dull 4am light. The moon hit his face just enough to make him look like artwork. Art that somehow is beautiful but also makes you think. He took my arm and rolled up my sleeve. " Look at you......" he traced the endless scars on my arm, not all self inflicted but all with a reason,all with a meaning. I wiped my eyes even though no tears were there. "Scars and cigarette burns......just another page in my story." he pulled off his hoodie and i saw his arms. Burn marks. "From the fire...most of them....." he breathed, painfully. "From the past." i traced a few of the scars on my arms with his finger. "From my father and other horrible people." i traced more scars and shivered as i did. I traced the long scar from rist to elbow and felt him quake. "From me." i traced the last scars remaining. "And thats

I lock the door behind me and hastily run to the little window. I glance around though not sure why. They atempt to unlock the latch.

The fresh grass tickled his sticky body as he crushed the living daylights out of them. Beneath the sun’s gaze, he laid still while absorbing the beauty of the outside world. It was perfect.