Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

Nevertheless, I still had to wake up sooner or later – the indestructible reality. Someone from the outside was calling my name and asking for me. This person needed me and needed me to wake up right now. I could not hear anything, but I knew that an urgent request was sent and I must respond to it. Just like responding to the alarm when it was way too early, I struggled to get back my conscious and get my body

I was so beat and drained, attempting to keep my eyes open as I scrolled through my news feed was a struggle; for my eyelids suddenly became steel anvils. My whole body was drunk and fatigue after a long afternoons work, cooking borderline Chinese food for borderline healthy customers. Slowly fading off I drop my phone besides me and roll around, trying to find the comfy spot in my mattress that always seems to be playing hide and seek. Finally managing to find him I give One last inhale of oxygen and drift into the sea of the subconscious; my dreams.

Abruptly and unexplainably, I was suddenly awoken from an exhaustive sleep. But, I don’t know how I was awoken. There was not a touch or sound. Just silence in the middle of the night. But, there I was; as awake and coherent as you are as you read this. I snapped up in bed, to a sitting position. There was an unexpected illuminating glow in the room. Everything was visible; the bed stand with the pink rose covered lamp. The tan overstuffed chair next to the bed with my blue flannel robe draped over the back. I could see everything clearly. I wasn’t startled, I felt surprisingly calm; at peace. As I glanced at the foot of my bed, he stood looking longingly into my soul.

“I can’t believe they don’t have any plum cake,” Jack Dandy said angrily, looking at the plum cake decorations hanging above his head. “I can 't believe they don 't have any either! You should talk to the store owner, Venny, I bet he has some hidden somewhere for himself!” Handy Pandy said with his hands behind his back. Venny tries to see Handy’s hands, but his view is obstructed by a shelf. “Okay, good idea. Hey, Venny! You don 't have any plum cakes!” Jack said forcefully as he hip-hops over. “Woah there, calm down it is just a plum cake, but there should be some right over there by those shelves,” Venny says. “I was just over there, what do you think you can lie to me right to my face?” Jack said, outraged. “Excuse me, sir, but you

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.

“This is for you.” I look at Dialah. She shrugs. The familiar orange juice in a glass is placed in front of me.

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 took lengthy whiles to adore your physiognomies before the moment where I could register how you spoke. I got hit at random upon one Tuesday noon filled with rain by how you stressed your syllables, and wound your ways in my heart when you spoke on literatures. It wasn’t how you spoke and what you touched upon. Rather, it was your vocal cadence sounds. If I could have, I might have made you speak for hours. Despite whether you spoke the equal terminology non-stop, I might not have minded; I knew it might enthrall. The greatest times were the moments where I did not know how you surrounded me, or how you were quiet throughout lengthy periods while I dozed. It was then I was able to discern you not far away and then smile with your vocal cadence intimacies in my ears. Do not ask me what it was like to hear you say my namesake; it could get sensed but never spoken. You entwined yourself in my cranium to where I was no longer someone who thought with their personal voice; at moments where I read, your vocal cadence handled narration duties. You captured my secondary senses in thorough fashion.

Careful not to make a noise, though it wouldn’t matter if I did, I crept over to my victim sprawled across the floor. One, two, three. I pounded a nail into my target’s head. The satisfying crack of the skull filled the room. Around me, a pool of blood began to form. Trapping, encasing, stopping me from moving. The thick liquid moved with a purpose, though I doubt it knew what that was. Slowly, then all at once, the color drained from his face, like watching the credits of a movie fade into the screen. Gone. Until next time, but, unlike a movie, he didn’t have a next time. Sirens wailed in the distance. They’d be here soon, but it didn’t matter. They were always a couple seconds behind me and that’s all the time I needed to escape.

Out of all the years of being Equestria’s ruler, never once did I ever think to be dethroned and beytrayed by my subjects, loyalists, and mistress. I couldn’t blame them, though, as I had failed to do what I had sworn to do: Protect my kingdom and bestow the essentials ponies needed; and besides the Flim and Falm Corp were able to do that better than I ever could. When I got insuborinated and removed from my castle, a sign that read “No Former Princess Celestia allowed here” was placed on the front.

Swing. My overly excited mother pried the drawn curtains open, sunlight flooding in through the glass. My eyelids fluttered at the bright, beaming light streaming in through the window. I gazed out, only to be met with vast, barren land. I sighed in boredom. God, I hoped South Australia was better than this. The busload was teeming with noise, buzzing with energy. The variation of languages seemed to combine together in one sound of gibberish, the cacophonous chattering of excited tourists made my head throb. The smell of nauseating, cheesy potato chips combined with the gritty smell of exhaust fumes laced the air. I closed my eyes, the warmth of the sun engulfing me in its kind embrace. As I slowly fell into a deep sleep, I thought about my adventures to come. School was out, and I was free, and I couldn’t wait to get away from it all.

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 decided to rewrite this story, but it is mostly me fixing it up here and there. I went back to read it all over again and it really needs some work. I know I am still not the best writer but I will the best I can.

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.

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.