Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

"Wake up Abby, it 's time to go to school!" my little sister Natalie whispered as she poked me. Leaves were blowing against my window, making a pitter patter sound that made me smile. I loved that fall breeze. It was another miserable, chilly Monday, to bad Autumn was coming to an end. I looked up at Natalie with her gigantic grin, and her gaze on me she never let go of.

He ended the kiss, but pressed his forehead to mine, as we both tried to regain some control. “I think,” I said between breaths, “you want to fuck me up against your car.”

"Mom! Dad! I 'm going out for a run!" I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a banana, finishing it off quickly as I got my earphones and phone.

Seeking Santa a spot near the radiator, behind the chair,my hiding place each Christmas Eve,in my dreams is always there.with twinkling lights reflecting off the icicles,so many, the star that shone so bright ontop, the gifts beneath, aplenty.I 'd sit there waiting, eager to see, the jollyold elf who seemed to know me, no movewould I make, not a peep nor a soundin case Santa came and I would be found.quiet and warm and tucked in tight, I 'dwait there alone in the dark on that night,sure I would see him, and he 'd not see me,but not once in my life was that ever to be.For I 'd just blink my eyes and open to see theChristmas sunrise was waiting for me.the cookies all eaten, the milk gone as well,like my hopes of a story that I 'd never tell,of the time I saw Santa, saw him comewatched him go, and the secret ofChristmas that I finally know...

The volatile smell of coolant and gasoline assaulted my nose as I took in the chaos around me; metallic taste hanging in the air. The metal groaned as the car settled into its mangled state. I watched as my parents ran over to the vehicle. I stepped out of the backseat, my seven-year-old body trembling. My mother yelled over her shoulder, “Kaydie! I need you to come over here right now!” I ran over to my mother as she pulled the back door open revealing a sobbing 4-year-old girl. “Kaydie, this little girl is very scared and we need to help her parents. Can you sit with her?” I crawled up into the back seat, next to the little girl. She looked at me with terrified eyes, “Where is my mommy and daddy?” I took her hand and told her she was going to be ok and that my mommy and daddy were with hers. We sat there, hand in hand, as I told her a story about a little girl riding a unicorn while I watched my parents helping hers.

The following morning, a Portkey deposited Fleur at the iron gate protecting Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. She made her way to her apartment where a small but well-placed living room featured a large window overlooking Hogwarts’ Quidditch pitch and a fireplace built into a bordering wall. A bookcase, end table, couch, and two plush chairs filled the room. To Fleur’s left, a kitchenette snuggled aside a short hallway leading to her bathroom and bedroom.

Later that night, I was behind the wheel of my G-Wagon with Melissa in the passenger seat. She didn’t feel like driving since she was on the road all day and I understood so I didn’t mind when she asked me to. I had been tight-lipped. She kept eyeballing me as if she detected that something was bothering me but I just kept singing to my India Arie as if I was carefree.

Scuffling just out of sight, the creature sniffed the air and reared it 's head. It caught her scent. It 's leathery black skin made it easier to disappear into the shadows of the forest they were in. The people it was hunting had no such talent.

I rolled out of bed and landed on the ruff discoloured carpet; I hadn 't vacuumed in months. I got up. I stretched out my ridged body. I fumbled to the door, not being bothered to switch on the lights. My tongue was dry and I needed something to quench my thirst- soda. Once I entered the hallway, I was assailed by a blinding light coming from Savannah 's, my sister 's bedroom. Curious - I made my way towards her room as my eyes adjusted to the new-found brightness.

There are times when people come across an object that holds a sentimental value and want to keep it close to their heart or in other instances, store it somewhere safe. Though my possession isn 't exactly an object you can hold or put away for safekeeping, but rather a place that allows family and friends to gather and dwell upon its most glorious days. A place everyone is perpetually invited and accepted for who they are. This home, I gratefully inherited from my grandparents, has become a shelter for those those in need, serves as a financial asset, and offers fond memories.

I remember that day when I loved into that town. It was a fresh and clear day. The birds were singing and the sun was shining all over. I had unpacked and had decided to explore around the place. I went through the shops and the park, and there nothing interested me. I don’t know why but, nothing was interesting. I had walked around and I was pretty sure that I had seen something shimmering in the sunlight, but when I looked closer, it was gone. Now, I will tell you how I became this: a ghost.

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 was used to moving round, having a mother who liked to travel more than making roots was something I had gotten used to. Still, I had never gotten used to the loneliness of an empty house when she was out exploring, or the feeling of leaving behind someone who could have meant something to me.

Thud. Slamming my head on the table I aimed yet another piece of crumpled paper towards the bin. Naturally, it misses, adding to the pile of miscellaneous paper waste. A pained sigh escaped my lips as I resigned myself to picking up my pen. Tapping some unknown rhythm on the desk, I tried to make sense of my thoughts. The bite marks on my pen lid pressed hard groves into my tired fingers, a simple reminder of reality. I needed some sort of inspiration. Another drawn out sigh as I decided that I couldn’t bare the table’s mahogany damnation any longer. My chair screeched along the hardwood floor and I clicked my pen to cast it away. A wistful glace to the window told me that the moon was yet to rear its head. It was still safe to go out.

It was a crisp morning in the first week of June, 2014. With her step-mom and father, Oriana and I got into the car at four o’clock in the morning and set out for the Eppley Airfield in Nebraska. The lengthy drive was masked by exotic dreams of Europe as Oriana and I slept soundly in the backseat of their champagne Cadillac. Before we knew it, the sun was creeping up from behind the scenery, eloquently painting the sky with vibrant tones of red, orange, and purple.