Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

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

It was the next morning after Phillip Higginbotham had gone to the Rabinowitz’s house for dinner, and he had realized something! He realized that he showed up to the dinner invite wearing a dress coat, but forgot to take it from the coat rack on his way out. He knew it was a gamble, but he decided to drive over to the Rabinowitz home this sunny, humid, morning to retrieve the coat. As he pulled up to the Rabinowitz home, Susannah could see that it was him through the living room window. Still flustered from their moments in the kitchen the night before, she made sure her hair was somewhat decent in the mirror on the wall, and then wrapped a light shawl around her shoulders. She then headed for the front door in anticipation for him to ring

He drove to Old Westbury Gardens in silence. Once there, he parked and staked out the area, his vision overwhelmed by a vast sea of green. As night began to fall and people arrived, he made his way to the main building, a large three-story mansion surrounded by elegantly sculpted greenery. Walking up to the side of the mansion, he walked straight in due to an invitation in the dossier. Making his way inside, He loitered over to the bar, scanning the broad ballroom. Despite the circumstances, he blended in well with the crowd of New York’s elite, not as much as an eyebrow was raised as he stood among the crowd. Minutes passed as his growing anxiety increased, the pistol in his shoulder holster grinding against his ribs, when he saw her, gliding across the mahogany floor, the trail of her white gown drifting behind her like a stream of smoke. Everyone else in the room vanished as his eyes lingered on her, his heart beating with a strength he hadn’t felt in years. He watched her leave through the wide doors leading to the balcony, and he followed, watching her ease down the stone steps into the courtyard. She finally stopped inside the gazebo that stood in front of a small lake. Strings of white lights danced down the columns of the structure, and tulips wove around its base. He observed as she lit a cigarette, his legs moving towards her on their own whim as if he were being pulled into her orbit. He was close enough to smell the stench of the tobacco when she finally acknowledged his presence, screaming and turning around as she threw the cigarette in the

Standing in front of her vanity, Judith started to rip and tear at the pages and only kept the important pieces in hand. She slipped them into crevices of the mirror and used the warm, sticky liquid on her mirror to glue some pictures to it. She got up to look at what she created but flinched instead at the sound of something rolling across the floor behind her. She turned around only to see a man, with wide hazel eyes, crouching in the corner of the room. Judith examined him closely before going anywhere near him. She let her eyes wander from the ends of his soft blonde hair, across his face, down to his gallant body which was covered in simple beige rags. She studied him some more and her mouth watered the more she stared. He broke the silence with a quiet voice.

“The insufferable stench from the pot-houses, which are particularly numerous in that part of the town, and the drunken men whom he met continually, although it was a working day, completed the revolting misery of the picture. An expression of the profoundest disgust gleamed for a moment in the young man’s refined face. He was, by the way, exceptionally handsome, above the average in height, slim, well-built, with beautiful dark eyes and dark brown hair. … he walked along not observing what was about him and not caring to observe it.” (3).

Santa Clause leaned his head against the sled, letting out a long sigh. It had been a tough evening so far. The northern hemisphere was down, but he still had one more hemisphere to go, and he had no idea what might be in store for him there. Santa’s thoughts ran to-and-fro from what if I never reach all the kids on time or what if the kids begin to lose faith in me? So, he quickly picked up his reins and gave them a slap, “whoop, whoop,” he called out to his reindeers, but exhaustion was creeping in. He noticed the fluffy clouds taking the forms of little children and candy canes, train sets, and teddy bears. His eyelids grew too heavy to keep them open, and his head dropped to one side. Santa fell into a deep slumber…

Robert was the first to arrive. He looked exactly like his profile pictures and selfies. The twenty-something was tall and slim with boyish good looks and soft features that bordered on feminine - Jake would be pleased. Robert took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink. Jake arrived fifteen minutes later. Robert stood up from the barstool and walked towards Jake. They checked each other out, standing back and letting one another take a good, long look, as though sizing up a Delmonico at a butcher counter. Peter couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear that they were pleased with the merchandise. Jake put his hand on the small of Robert’s back and ushered him back to the barstool. Jake pushed his barstool directly next to Robert, climbed into the seat, and ordered drinks.

In the end, Tom’s long-awaited shower did little to relieve the tension in his body, and stepping out of the cubicle, he wiped a hand over the steamy bathroom mirror and carefully studied his reflection. Dozens of tiny water droplets clung to his hair, the shimmering beads eventually losing their precarious hold in rhythmic drips, sending a trail of moisture down his chiseled cheeks and onto his smooth chest. Stress had etched deep lines around his eyes, the weary, pained expression becoming more familiar with each passing day as the new, disenchanted Tom Hanson fought for dominance over the old. However, just beneath the surface, a faint light was beginning to glow, stubbornly resisting the slow, rotting decay of his soul by courageously fighting through the enveloping darkness. It was proof he wasn’t ready to give up, no matter how hard the road ahead might be, and it was that distant glimmer that kept him pushing forward, one slow step at a time toward wellness. He was nervous about his upcoming boys’ night out with Doug, and while he recognized it wasn’t a huge leap forward, it was a leap forward nonetheless, and he felt immensely proud of himself for agreeing to it. Only a few days ago, he would have conjured up some lame excuse as to why he couldn’t go, but now, despite his trepidation, he was actually looking forward to spending some quality time with the young officer. Their relationship was important to him, and he was determined to get it back on track so

She was hoovering the stairs when the doorbell rang; she looked through the landing window, but couldn’t see the delivery van. Remembering Mrs Laurence’s warning, she crept down the stairs and peeped though the spyhole. She’d expected to see a teenager with a case of substandard tea towels and ironing board covers; instead, the man standing with his back to the house looked old or middle aged; his hair was grey and balding at the crown. He turned to ring the bell again, and Jen stepped back. There was something wrong with his face; the skin was pink and shiny, and stretched tightly over the bones. His features were nondescript, except for his lips, which were full, the corners curving upward, as if carved into the flesh with a knife. He slid something through the letterbox, and left.

“You ready for fine dining?” He asked smiling and grabbing a few croissants from the table. I nodded with delight as he grabbed my soap induced hand. Wiping my hands on my blue and white cotton dress I followed my brother out the door. As we walked hand in hand, many girls would smile and wave at Phillip. They were enhanced by his golden blond locks and his shimmering emerald green eyes. I looked nothing like him. My hair was the pitchest of black and my eyes were more blue than the color itself. No boys gawked over me like the girls gawked over Philip but I didn't mind. My brother was the only non moronic boy in this city. Even as the girls fainted over him, Philip continued to walk toward our tree them looking back at me he would began running.

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.

I awakened in a cold sweat, breathing tough while clutching the blankets with white knuckles. I quickly glanced from left to right, my heart only beginning to slack after I realized I was awake. Carefully stepping out of bed, still reeling from the frightening movie my brain played while I slept, I peaked toward the door and froze. Something conveyed the impression that something was different regarding my room though I couldn’t put my finger on it. Pulling a blanket around my body, I attempted to block out the frigid air and overcome my shivering.The sun barely peeked through the closed blinds of my window. It was still early dawn.

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.

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