Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

Ms. Matilda has been a servant of my family since before I was born. She was a young woman who had been a governess and was looking for work after her pupil’s death, and came upon my family’s doorstep on a dreary night, as she tells it. My mother took her in, and she has been with us ever since. On this particular day, in my 8th year, we were laughing as we pretended that I was a beautiful bride, strutting down the aisle towards a handsome prince.

Sometimes I wounder what love is. Sometimes I wounder if I will ever feel the emotion, or if the emotion is a figment of peoples imaginations. Like some kind of god, you wish him to be up in heaven with his angels so badly that you see unicorns where there are meerly horses. Of coarse, who am I to judge what others think to be true, because if you want it bad enough, your mind may trick you, and who is to say that that is less real than the fact that the sky is blue or that my hair is blond? No one.

I take off my black coat and exhale relief, seeing that my lower quadrants are back to normal.

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

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.

“Loki” I called, “Come on, time for a walk.” That was all it took, when I was only halfway through the sentence my dog came charging over, almost knocking me down. I laughed. “We’ll go outside in a minute, just hold on.” I said as I attempted to put a leash on the excited husky. I’d had a long day at school, and I was ready to take a break. ’A walk outside would be pretty nice.’ I thought.

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.

“Do you remember the red heel you always wanted to wear when you were younger,” my cousin asks. I giggle quietly as my forms a smile. I try to remember, but the memories do not come to me. I look up at her and just say yes, but why is it that I do not recall those shoes? I look down at my feet and close my eyes. I can see myself at the age of two running around in a pearly dress. I begin to scan myself in the dress, I look down, but still cannot see the shoes. I reopen my eyes and I just sigh. Have I forgotten where I came from, or is it just my mind playing tricks on me?

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.

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

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.

Your name is Pacifica Northwest and you are an eight year old, vivacious, wealthy blonde living in the peaceful town that was Gravity Falls, Oregon. It was small, and your mansion was probably one of the biggest buildings in town, owned by none other than Patricia and Richard Northwest.

Death. Traumatizing. Scarred for life. Charlie… It started off as a great day, the end of our extraordinary R.V. trip in Utah. We were about to go white water rafting, I’m just going to say what is about to happen, I never expected I would have to experience in my life. Nevertheless it happened to me when I was 10.

It was 2:30 in The morning. And mum always used to say nothing good ever happens after two in the morning. I should have listened. Anyway, I stood on the corner of Vernon and 25th street, on a rainy night in London. When standing there, I suddenly became suspicious of my surroundings. A man figure dressed in black passed by without a word. He dropped a pale, beige journal. When I realized it had fallen, I gathered up the broken, fallen pages upon the ground. As I looked up to see where the mysterious man had gone, I found myself standing alone as I did before.