Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

The word lost was becoming more operative by the moment. The morning 's ice fishing over at nearby North Pond had been fine. After I ate my fish cakes back in my cabin at Mohawk Mountain, heat radiating from the wood stove, I 'd felt warm enough to peel down to a t-shirt and read. That was this morning.

I sat in our freezing basement. Goosebumps layered my body and I began to shake. A light lit up the dark room and I listened to the footsteps walking down the steep stairs.

Bill Bowerman once said, "The real purpose of running isn 't to win a race, it 's to test the limits of the human heart." That was the quote that was running through my mind as I kept in pace with my best friend Tyler, the sounds of our jogging almost rhythmic. The cool afternoon air cleared my busy mind, and as we rounded the corner of the park 's running trail, out stopping place near the duck pond came to view. Beside me, I heard a sharp intake of breath come from Tyler, signaling that he too had seen the pond. Without a second thought, we both sprinted towards it. The path blurred below me as I felt a surge of adrenaline. I willed my muscles to push harder and welcomed the burning sensation that coursed through my body. My heart pounded to the steady thumps of our footsteps hitting the cold rocky ground. I felt the beads of sweat running down my forehead and the nape of my neck making my hair to cling to it. As I was reaching the end, a new burst of energy erupted in me, throwing over the finish line. I hunched over trying to catch my breath as I held onto a bench that faced the pond. My throat burned as I laughed at the sight of him cursing and kicking the dirt. I reached into the pockets of my shorts and tossed him a set of keys to which he caught flawlessly. Without saying a word, he turned and began on his journey back. I gathered what little energy remained in my body and forced myself to sit down knowing it would take him some time to reach the parking lot.

That decision sticks to me still to this day. It was the day I walked away from my ugly past. I used to be a gangster, a real bad dude. I owned the coolest cars, I had the hottest girls, and I was rolling in the dough. But I had to get out of that lifestyle. My homie, Jarron, went to prison for life because of that day. I went to prison for two years. It was time to change.

“I was thinking we could go out to The Grand tonight for dinner then stay at the boat,” Jamison suggested over the phone.

Hurrying over to the creek with a can of corn, my father’s friend, Steve, my dad, and myself all had a tiny pole in our hands. Every time one of us dunked our corn-on-a-hook, a creek chub would snap snap snap at it, and we’d have another piece of bait for the real fishing journey. After we snagged enough creek chubs, we headed to the Illinois river.

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.

Once I had closed the door after them we stood in silence, staring at the worn blue of the floor beneath our feet. There was nothing we could do or say to make this less uncomfortable. There was something unfathomable sneaking between all three of us and we knew it without speaking. If any of us were taken away then that meant we were hiding something from even our own family, and in our society that wasn’t well tolerated. Then again, if you came out as an oddity that could make a person’s blood boil just by looking at them then you had a tendency to fear those around you. I didn’t want anyone to be afraid of me, but I also couldn’t keep it from creeping into their psyche once the truth was laid bare for everyone to see. It would break my

Once having left the Brewin’s place, I was back on the road pushing June’s car to its limit as I made my way over to the shed. I wasn’t completely sure of what my game plan would be once I got there, but I knew whatever it would be, my chances of pulling it off would be slim.

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.

It was a chilly afternoon in Santa Rosa, the branches of trees--stripped of their leaves--hovered over the ground like bonyF wooden fingers while the cool wind drifted and moaned. I sat in my parents room watching my favorite Mexican telenovela, with my little sister, who has always been close and clingy to me. My father entered into the room and requested me to pause the television.

During the summer month of June 1830 it was very hot and sunny. The hot heat was beaming down on my head as I was working in grandma’s garden picking some peas for dinners. Every summer I always end-up at grandma’s house. She always wanted me to help her with choirs around the house during the whole summer. Well, I realize this was getting very bored to me. I wanted to have fun like my other friends, have during the summer. So I decided to ask my parents can I go to my auntie betty who live in Mississippi. I haven’t never been there before, I felt now it’s time to go there.

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.

My bed sheets flew towards the opposite end of the bed when I sat straight up. Even though my room trapped the cold Minnesota below freezing temperature, sweat dribbled off my body like a water fountain. It clung to my face and then decorated the glittery gold themed bed sheets my mom had just bought me a few days ago. I drew my one remaining knee up to my chest and wrapped my long, thin arms around them. Looking at the alarm clock for the fifth time, I took a long breath and peeked at the calendar hanging over the walnut desk, which had a big fat black circle around April 11th, 2013; today. Miriam Grayson got down and kneeled next to her bed, thanking God for another day.

I awoke from the same Nightmare that I had woken up from for the past twenty years.