Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

December 9, 2004, a journalist pens letters of goodbye to his wife and three children; and one day following shoots himself in the head, leaving only a note on the front door “ do not let yourself in - call the police instead.”

When I opened my eyes, it was just like any other day. The first thing I did, was close them again. I had always loved to sleep in. I could never bare the thought of leaving the comfort of my bed to the cold, harsh weather right away, yet alone to come to school. “I can only delay the inevitable” I thought, as I regrettably rolled out of bed to begin the long day ahead. I made my way towards the bathroom to brush my teeth, making sure to say hello to my dog, Gabe, as I passed by. Upon entering the bathroom, I reached for my toothbrush and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My brown hair was a mess as always, but I could barely tell without my glasses on. My hazel eyes pierced the mirror, standing out like a bright light in the dark room, but they were slightly covered by my glasses. I made note of my messy hair as I continued to brush my teeth, and once I was finished, left the room. Upon leaving the bathroom, I went down the stairs to eat breakfast. I looked thoroughly through the fridge, hoping for some easy to make leftovers, but unfortunately none were left. I sighed, and went to make myself bacon and eggs for the morning. After letting the dog out and washing my hands, I wolfed them down and went back upstairs to brush my hair. I checked to make sure I had everything I needed for school, even though I had already checked the night before, and grabbed my keys to drive to school.

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.

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

chair. I make my way to my room and I grab the picture frame that I placed on my night stand.

When my parents decided I had become old enough to safely wield a pole with a small but hurtful hooked object on a string, I began fishing. At first I only wanted to fish because I was not allowed to, but after I tried it for the first time I became fascinated with the mechanics. With our small, skinny, breakable-looking poles, we could pull mysterious, flopping beasts out of the water that would otherwise swim beneath the surface, undetectable. During the fall and winter months, my father, my sister, and I would frequently take our fishing poles down to the creek behind our house in hope of catching salmon and any other wondrous kinds of fish that frequented the cool waters.

‘- it was we who did the dispossessing, took traditional lands and destroyed traditional ways of life-’

“Goodwill. I actually found it on the floor in a pile of stuff, but… I just had to buy it.

Most of the time August in Maine is hot, sticky hot. The kind of hot where as much as you don’t want to you break down and turn the air conditioning on. This mid-August day is the exception. The day before, it rained just enough to break the heat but not enough to make it humid and unbearable. The result is a cool breeze of morning air that comes in through my window and dances delicately with the lace curtains and soft golden rays of the waking sun just beginning to fill my room.

I barely open my eyes and see a roof of a big airplane, a couple feet away. I gaze around and see my mom, who has shorts and a tank top on, to my left, and my dad, who has khakis and a T-shirt, to my right. I sit up and look at the GPS hanging down from the roof of the airplane. The GPS said we are right on the shoreline. I tried to peek out the window, but we were in the middle section of the broad airplane. Soon enough, I get a good look out the window and saw the island. Hawaii! I did a little ‘happy dance’ in my head. I couldn’t wait for the beach. Unfortunately, I was in long pants, and I frowned. It was hot too, and there was no air conditioning on the plane. I took off my blanket as the pilot came on a speaker.

I was waddling around in my playpen like any happy four-year-old would. Picking up and grabbing random toys and hurling them as hard my my chubby arm could. I looked at my brother with the biggest grin I could muster, as we heard my mother’s off-pitch voice, singing our favorite Disney songs to us, currently one from Sleeping Beauty, much to my brother’s dismay. It was the best day I can remember. My mother finished up with the song, and I thought it was the best thing I had ever heard. I didn’t know at the time that my mother is actually tone-deaf.

I wake up to the sound of a woodpecker. Why am I even here? How did I get in my bed? These questions raced through my mind as I searched for a possible answer. Maybe it was just a dream. Yeah, just a dream.

I sat on the ground; my legs sprawled out over the vast pink carpet that filled my bedroom. My hands were in fists as I listened to the heavy metal music flowing out of my brothers ' room. The sound seemed to enter my ears and never leave, penetrating my ear drums over and over again until I couldn 't take it anymore and was driven insane.

It was Halloween and, being the super mature teenager that I was, I went trick-or-treating. Going house to house and getting practically thrown at with candy just seemed entirely worth it. Considering I was 5,3, I wasn 't surprised that I could pull off being a 12-year-old for one night without calling attention to myself.

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.