Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

You’re walking down the sidewalk on your way home. A chilly breeze blows, and you hunch your shoulders, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket. Feeling a need for spontaneity, you decide to take a different turn. After five minutes of walking you come upon a corner store. You feel an urge to go in and you don’t know why; maybe because the store looks impossible somehow, with its smudged outline and colors that are slightly less visible than the colors of the other buildings on the street, or because of the way that none of the passersby even give it a glance.

As I walked around the park the birds were chirping, leaves rustling, it was one of the most peaceful walks I have ever taken, until I seen Asriel walking full speed ahead at me. I turned away covered my face and started to jog the opposite way ,she was coming, thankfully she did not recognise me. After she passed, I then started to walk I became very depressed when I walked to the graveyard, it started to rain and storm. I went to go talk to Isaac because I was having one of the worst days of my life I walked up to his grave and started to

The more I thought about it everything started to change... everything started to fade and become blurry, everything was coming down the birds went silent the water stopped moving the sun stopped shining all was still even the breeze died. I didn't understand what was going on. nothing made sense... everything started to get cold and i felt not at peace any more but cold and dark everything got a negative feeling, almost like a heavy gravity. It started to get hard to see everything as it got darker and darker and colder and colder. The wind picked up but this time it was different it was cold bitter, it was bone chilling... it sent a cold chill straight up my back, at that point I was cold and just wanted to go home. so I stood up from the stump and looked down to see the ground cracking and cracking quickly. My very heart started racing and my mind sank I was scared, so I ran but it felt hopeless the darkness just kept creeping in closer and closer. The ground just kept breaking under my feet and my feet were sore and

It was dark and hard to see, but I could make out a crumbling building in front of me. I slowly got to my feet and noticed I was in the middle of a road. The moon shone brightly in the sky, barely lighting up the city. I started walking, trying to figure out what was going on, why I was here. It was eerie, nobody was around.

One day, while enjoying the never-ending skies of my home I felt a very strong disturbance right in front of me and in the blinking of the eyes, I was in a new and strange place.

I brought myself up. From my surroundings, it was apparent that I had not gone out too far from my laboratory. Despite the blackness of the night, I was too familiar with the swamp which engulfed my town. I pointed myself in the direction of the only light I could see, unmistakably the town’s lighthouse. However, it was difficult to be sure given my recent and regrettable actions. My mind seemed to betray me in a sense which caught me off guard. Nevertheless, the light was my only point to go on, so I began my short journey back to civilization.

The cemetery was about a mile behind me. On Smith Street, a mysterious voice flowed into my ear. "Keep straight and don 't look back," it said with a familiar voice. It was my dad 's voice. I knew to follow his directions. His directions persuaded me to scurry down the street. Before I knew it, my house was in my sightline.

One day, we were camping in the woods. We set up camp only in the fringe of the forest, but still surrounded by trees on all sides. It was night, around midnight, we were telling ghost stories, but it was just me, my friend and his dog, and my grandpa. My grandpa was just starting his story, “One time, long ago, there was a boy and his dog, wandering the forest here…” here his voice got an eerie tone, which I never heard before, and still gives me the chills today, and he continued talking. “The dog heard a noise, like a twig snapping, and ran, the boy tried to chase his ferret, but ran head long into a strange fox, red eyes, black fur, and the boy wasn’t seen again. The dog, unaware of what happened, returned home, the fox is said to be still around this forest somewhere,” a pack of wolves howled in the distance, giving me goose bumps, my friend scooted closer to his pet, a green and white cat, uneasy. Suddenly, I saw a black shape moving in the darkness outside of the fire light, it looked at me, red eyes flashing in the light of the fire, and then disappeared into the dark forest. Grandpa was saying we should get some sleep, but I was too nervous to sleep from the image of those eyes fresh in my memory, so I stayed up most of the night reading and thinking about what I saw, until I fell asleep, book open next to me. The next morning I exited the small two person tent. It had me, my friend, and his cat, all in one tent; it got cramped in the

After I confessed , I blacked out due to a blow on the head from a short man. The mocking police officers took me into a compact, windowless , musty room that looked like it has been there since the dawn , or maybe even earlier, of time.

I grab the tiny green bowl in front of Autumn and place it in the stainless steel sink. I swipe my hand under the faucet and clear water comes pouring out. The remains of the now cold mac’n’cheese soaks up the water and swirls down the drain. I look over my shoulder to my sweet Autumn, who is still sitting in the chair with her tiny arms and filthy fingers draped on the counter.

Obediently, Blondie increased his speed and – I noticed – his pleasure. His mouth was opening soundlessly now, another sign of his enjoyment I knew so well. He was breathing heavily too. Felatina kept him rowing and rowing, to the point where I thought he was going to spray his love juice. However, the potion was working well and although he showed all the physical signs of being close to orgasm, the actual event was not happening. I smiled at Marianna as we giggled about what kind of sensation that must be for a man.

It was 3:27 a.m., and my husband, just pulled into our driveway. He manages a popular restaurant in D.C. and had just worked his usual 12-hour shift and was exhausted and only thinking about climbing into bed to sleep the sleep of the dead for a peaceful 3 hours until our 3 year old son rose with the sun and snuck into our room. So he walked out of the car and locked the door and walked the 15-20 steps to our front door. As he stepped inside, he quickly yet gently shut the front door behind him as he could hear a loud truck racing down the street towards our direction and didn’t want the loud engine to wake up everyone (myself and our 2 young children) who were fast asleep inside. Then there was a loud crash, and the pickup truck’s engine raced away. I awoke in bed from the noise of the collision but at the same time heard our front door open/close so I knew he was home safe and I allowed myself to fall back asleep.

I woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs. I got up and I looked in the mirror. My hair is very messy so I grabbed my hairbrush and other things. I brushed my hair and then grabbed my water bottle. I went out into the living room. Isabella, Emma, and Sophia sat down in their little chairs. Jaden, Jake, and Lucas played with their toy trains. I sat across from mommy who had her hair in a bun. "Destiny, we have something to tell you. We did not know when was the right time to tell you. I mean you were scared and hurt, we did not want to hurt your feelings even more." Mommy said.

I drove down the street at a snails’ pace, passing the house once, twice, three times until I finally brought my car to a dead-stop around the corner, out of the line of sight if someone were to have been watching me. How naïve of me, who would have been watching me? In this place I would be an untouchable—if it weren’t for Alana. I unbuckled my seat belt, opened the door, and placed one foot on the asphalt one after another. I stood up, and began the 100-yard walk to the house (moving slower than my 90 year old Great Grandmother without her walker, mind you). It was a particularly warm night for December, but then again this is California, there is not rhyme or rhythm to our weather. As I walked I could see, over the Cliffside to my right, the dimly lit coastline and the subsequent blackness of the Pacific. Well, there I stood, the door within an arms reach, out of ways to delay my attendance further. I was, at this point, already 45 minutes late; “fashionably” late was good right? In my case I don’t know if I would’ve been considered “fashionably” late—perhaps just late (I am quite sure my faded Vans t-shirt and ripped boot-cut jeans would not be considered fashionable, by any standard). I lightly knocked on the menacing wooden doors. No response. Perhaps my faint knock was drowned out by the combined roar of voices and music inside. I knocked again, louder this time. A response.

Sitting silently I pick up the very same pen that I had just recently moments ago put down in frustration. I go in for another attempt to write and build up a large assortment of words. As a few seconds pass, with the pen firmly gripped in my right hand, the pen and paper come together. Disregarding my momentary lapse of a creative flow, I stare down at the endless rows of horizontal blue lines. Memories surface of myself being in this situation many times over, especially being creatively stuck before I break through. Finally, contact is made to the page and the tip of the pen where the ink seems to gently glide across the paper. Creating a universe and giving life to anything I choose to declare. The words begin to flow freely