Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

My first attempt at telling this story wasn’t the best. Aside from grammatical errors I lacked that passion that I needed to invoke in order for the story to come to life and I also left out details. As far as changes go, I changed about seventy-five percent of the entire story, which includes me just rewording certain parts of the story I also added more to it as well. Compared to my first draft I left out certain details in my final piece such as the protagonist having a sister, due to the fact that she really didn’t play a hug role in the story since she was so young, also because it was a recommendation from some of my peers.

I can hear the White Rabbit 's watch tocking and ticking yet I don 't see him. He is late again. I might just fire him or water him, however, that phrase goes. I let my devious grin emerge from the dust to see him in the dark dry woods, he doesn 't see me but I see him in his half ironed quarter buttoned shirt. I am not a bad kitty, I simply don’t play nice with the kittens.

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

At my stop, I jump off the bus as fast as I can. I look back, praying he is not there. Unfortunately, my fear came true; there he is, following me. My heart starts to beat fast, my head is spinning. I am going through an anxiety attack. I think to myself, He could live on the same street as my uncle, right? Or he may be going to a friend’s house. I have never felt so insecure in my life before. Right at that moment, I remember something my dad told me something. He said, “If you ever feel like you are in trouble and need help, just call

Choking back the hot burning tears her skinny legs splayed on the cool bathroom tile. Black streams coating her soft innocent cheeks, raking her bony fingers through the tangled knots in her black curled hair. Her pale skin scarred with the red marks from his hands, forever touching her once pure skin. Her thoughts bubbling up in bursts of fiery anger, words spewing from her sweet pink lips. Memories flooding her senses, flashbacks clouding her judgment. His words forever branded into her mind, his threats chaining her to the bathroom floor. Hidden, her internal suffering hidden from the world. His words, clothed her pain like a muzzle. Silencing her cries for help. Her malady hidden behind her long hair and quiet demeanor. His choice, her consequence.

“Brrr.” I shivered when I stepped into the shallow water. After 30 seconds, though, I adjusted.

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...

As you kneel down on the hard wood floor in cabin 12, the smell of 4-day-old, moldy tube socks that have been soaked in lake water sneak into your nose. They were balled up under one of the beds, and left to ferment in the muggy summer heat. As a cabin keeper at Merritt Reservoir, you will have many bizarre encounters in the short three-month summer break that you spend there. You need a variety of supplies to clean different types of cabins, and they can be classified as the busy work cabins, party cabins, mystery cabins, and the outhouses. The supplies range from typical cleaning utensils such as rags and window cleaner, extra toilet paper and towels, Febreze, and rubber gloves for sticky situations. However, also be sure to grab mousetraps, a bible, and a long wooden rod with a hook on the end. This sounds unusual, but it will make sense soon.

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 another typical day in Washington as gray clouds drifted lazily across the blue sky, hiding the bright rays of the sun from view. A light shower sprinkled over Seattle and only increased as the clouds grew thicker and dense. Sixteen year old Jae Fault walked to school; Greenwood High.

You can do that?! Haha, no not right now. You done so much already, let me do something for you for a change. I got Seti to make his people make a plaque for you. I don’t know how well it will work though since lately all of Seti’s plans has

Sitting silently I pick up the very same pen that I had just recently moments ago put down in frustration. I go in for another attempt to write and build up a large assortment of words. As a few seconds pass, with the pen firmly gripped in my right hand, the pen and paper come together. Disregarding my momentary lapse of a creative flow, I stare down at the endless rows of horizontal blue lines. Memories surface of myself being in this situation many times over, especially being creatively stuck before I break through. Finally, contact is made to the page and the tip of the pen where the ink seems to gently glide across the paper. Creating a universe and giving life to anything I choose to declare. The words begin to flow freely

I was used to moving round, having a mother who liked to travel more than making roots was something I had gotten used to. Still, I had never gotten used to the loneliness of an empty house when she was out exploring, or the feeling of leaving behind someone who could have meant something to me.

One afternoon, I came home, got myself a snack and went to my room. As I entered my room, I noticed Paolo’s bedroom blinds were open. In all the years that have passed by, not once had I ever noticed his blinds open, so in curiosity, I looked in. As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of my room, I caught glimpses of movements in the shadows on his bed, until it hit me that he was sliding his hand up and down his cock. He was really taking his time, absorbed in his self-pleasure.

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.