Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

The door creaked open as I entered and then I heard a sound. It locked behind me. I began

His palm imprinted through layers of my skirt and lace panties onto my arse cheek.

I am instantly met with unbearable pain in my head as I awake. I feel as if I am having an ongoing brain freeze and… wait no, that’s is not the right metaphor to use, it makes it sound like it’s a lot less painful than it really is. Rather, I feel like I have just been hit by a train going 200 miles faster than normal. I don’t understand why, but I’m so exhausted, as if I haven’t slept in days.

A smile crept up on my face and I gave the girl a light push teasingly.

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...

We pulled up the driveway, the headlights of the car shining against the metal garage door. I listened to the sweet melody flowing from the white headphones all the way through my ears. Flightless Bird, American Mouth by Iron & Wine played, the lyrics burning themselves in my brain, leaving the permanent mark of the emotions that filled each sweet, meaningful word. My mom pulled a headphone from my ear aggressively and shook her head at me.

Rainbow Dash glanced down at her saddlebag, letting a monotonous sigh as she looked over the bunch of rolled up maps poking out from the sack. With a look of profound determination, she lifted her hoof and knocked on the door.

I moved to Waterford, Connecticut in my middle of second year of high school. When I went to Waterford first time, I didn’t like it. Actually I felt miserable, because I wasn’t happy that I moved to Waterford. As soon as when I got there I missed all of my friends. I don’t remember exact dates, but I know it was winter, cold. I think unhappiness made me feel colder. Waterford looks like the old country. There was few houses in a street. Our new house was one of it. The house surrounded by some trees, a huge yard, and a stream. I thought I am living in a forest. As soon as when we moved to Waterford, my father had to go back to Korea for his work. It was our first time that we live separately. I had about a month off from the school because one of the paper didn’t go through. I didn’t know anyone in there, didn’t know what I can do, or what’s where. Afraid to be outside, and being not happy about living in Waterford didn’t makes me to do something. I just stayed in the house. Staying in the house wasn’t fun either. My father is gone. My mom started to work in her new job. My brother was busy to play online computer game with his friends. I think living in a house for a month without seeing anyone, and stay home felt loneliness was the very beginning of the depression start.

I slam bolt upright, gasping out of the dream. My hands burrow into my sleeping bag, fingers clutching the fabric, grounding me back into reality. No one else is awake, so I sit there, trying to manage my hyperventilation, unable to understand how a dream can feel so real and still be a dream. I can’t shake the feeling of the blood oozing through my fingers, so I unzip from my sleeping bag and stumble out of the tent and into the frigid night air.

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 used to be normal. I used to have friends and people who cared about me. I used to think I was safe in my mother’s arms. That I could grow up to be the person everyone would admire. But those days are gone. Not a single soul in the world could give a damn about me. Every day I am tormented and abused, and I take it all in because I deserve it. Every day I think of running away, leaving my wretched soul behind. Every day I want to kill myself, but I can never bring myself to. Every day I am an outcast to society, an abomination. Every day that goes by, I am still gay. And I can’t change who I am.

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

"Dreamy" I thought. Standing on the corner is a young guy with a smile. I see him here almost every day, so I linger for a while. He tells me his name, and I tell him mine. ' 'I 'm Ester, what 's your name? I enquired. ' 'My names David ' '.,He replied. We end up talking for a while and I asked him if he had ever left this city. He tells me of all these stories of the places where he 's been, the distant lakes and mountains, and in valleys oh so green. I can see it in his eyes, he really has been there, travelled in those distant lands, seen sights beyond compare. I am so honoured just to get to know him, and hear him tell his tales. He makes me laugh and smile, stuff I have never been able to do. I want to go and see the world through

I had only been to Nabir once. I was traveling to another plane when I discovered I had accidentally deviated from the normal route, landing myself in an unfamiliar place. The Nabirians wore elaborately engraved tags around their necks that varied between bright neon to modest bland colors, all of which had numerical values inscribed upon them. The people minded their own business, kept polite conversations, and talked in smooth voices; a refreshing change to the other unscrupulous planes I had visited in the past. I was enticed, however, by how incredibly intelligent the people on the plane appeared to be — though I soon found that conversing with a Nabir native could be quite undesirable and mostly one sided.