Descriptive Essay

“Well you better start working on it then because you’re going to do it on stage at the recital whether you can or can’t, hopefully it will look good,” she replied back sternly.

this water to survive, and our loved ones at home worried sick wondering if we are even still alive. Then again the view a had while doing this wasn’t all that bad. Most likely a better view than what I would have originally had at the resort we were heading to.

“I thought I told you to bring your speech so you can practice." She told me with a disapproving smirk that felt like she could see straight through

“No, you will be fine! I was way more nervous than I should have been,” Kenzie replied.

Rhythm. The sunlight lightly tapped a beat on my arms, warming me. The crate below me was hot to the touch. I felt the soft sand as I brushed my toes through it. The beach was full of crates. Heaps of them lay in the sun, tanning and conversing in their wooden ways. A few people populated the beach. A cluster of young men was behind me. I listened to their conversation. I had an odd habit of doing that- eavesdropping.

Your stomach is feeling bubbly. Following those in charge on an interminable pathway. The waves are wild horses, rearing up before crashing down onto the river, pounding the rocks with their stainless-steel hooves. After finally reaching to the peak of the starting point, the doughnut-like tube emerges itself in the arctic water.

I remember the night I felt my tears drop into my hands while being in the center of the room. Everything was blurry around me, even my thoughts. The pain I felt hindered my vision and even interfered with my breathing. I desperate tried not to cry, but couldn’t. A foggy figure started to approach me trying to say something but all I could hear was my heartbeat.

I was wasted. I can see the colors again. When I tell this to people they look at me like i just grew two heads. This has been happening to me since i was 19 and drank in my parents basement. Now i'm 22. I've grown to learn what the colors mean. I believe they're auras. Why i only see them while i'm drunk, i dont know. I take a peek at the bartender. He was a strapping young man. Young and beautiful. 24 at the most. He was tall and brawny with black hair and a bit of a stubble. He had beautiful light blue eyes, which was magnificent with his dark complexion. He had a pink aura, as i did. A person walks over and sits by me. She's petite with beautiful black curly hair in a ponytail. She had dark, smooth skin. She had strikingly beautiful facial features. A sharp jaw line and a perfectly contoured nose and face. Her beauty looked natural though.Her aura was a light lavender color.

This painting portrays Kahlo's two different personalities: traditional and modern Kahlo. The two are holding hands and are both sitting next to one another. The traditional

Jack was sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor of his tree house. He shivered in the evening air, slouching inside his hoodie, his eyes glued to the pages of his graphic novel. At eleven years old, he was a voracious reader and completely unaware that the sun had set. He had been using his flashlight for over an hour, propped under his chin so his hands could hold the book open. His collie puppy, Lex, had been patient but was starting to think about his fluffy bed and treats in the house. He pushed his head between the book and Jack, using his saddest face and even whimpering a little.

I look out the small oval window as my carriage makes it way along the ruff, jerky and jarring dirt road. The darkness makes the tree branches look as if they are reaching out towards me, causing me a slight feeling of unease. The rain bashing hard against the window reminds me of the night it all happened. As my carriage travels over a large bump I am jolted in my seat, startling me as my mind had drifted to memories of that dreadful night. I try to look away from the window and think of something else when a loud crack of thunder alarms me. More memories from that night. I look down to my hands in my lap and realise that I have been nervously moving them together subconsciously, ‘a nervous habit I need to stop’ I think to myself. I wonder how far away I am from the destination? I again look out the window and notice how dark the night looks, caused by the dark storm clouds and gigantic trees that loom overhead.

My hands start to shake as I step into the ice arena. I can’t tell if I’m nervous or just freezing. The ceiling is decorated with annoying pink and yellow streamers. Seems to be right up Susan’s alley. Susan was a friend I wasn’t used to having. She was one of the most popular girls in school and liked by other peers. Today, however, her persona was more timid and worrisome than usual. I turn my gaze towards her hands fidgeting on her shirt and look up to see her eyes with regret. Skating over to lighten her mood, her mouth forms the words “I’m so sorry”. What did she do? Especially to me? It was her birthday and I definitely did not want to spoil that. Susan grips my arm and pulls me over to the frosty hand rail. With big puffs of breath, she mutters “Please don’t get mad at me, but Aila was invited to the party”. I could feel my breathing getting short and my cheeks rosy and hot. No matter what Susan said or did, nothing could make up for inviting someone who has it out for me.

The saxophone jazz and chatter from inside creepily faded into the dark streets. I was lurking outside the bar and quickly pacing back and forth against the window. I looked up and down the empty and dark street before quickly pausing to stare into the bar window. The room glowed between the broken blinds. I searched carefully, standing on my toes to see the full expanse of the room. People were dancing against each other, laughing and spilling drinks. Everyone orbited around a band in the middle of the room, as they swung their instruments creating sultry jazz. My eyes landed on a girl sitting alone, her body almost entirely eclipsed by shadows and creepy red glows. I stole looks, my wet eyes tracing down her body and through her shining hair, hypnotized by the lights trailing across her glowing skin. I chewed harder at the soggy toothpick I held in my lips. Suddenly, I saw a pair of shadows cross the window towards the door and instantly I turned my back and leaned against the window, reaching for a box of camels in my jean pocket. The bar door shuddered open and jazz escaped into the streets until the door crashed shut behind them. A laughing couple stumbled out of the darkness and into the flickering streetlight. From the shadows, I watched them closely, bringing a dry cigarette to my lips. I flicked a lighter and cuffed a hand around the flame. With a sizzle, the orange flame weakly illuminated my hungry eyes as they followed the drunken couple down the street. The

I’m around nine or ten years old. It’s a warm sunny day and the sky is clear of cloud’s that you can see the perfect light blue. I get a phone call from my mother on the landline. I had no idea the news she was about to tell. It was after school when the life changing call came. It was from there on that I started to slowly grow up.

The alluring sun rays peak through the clouds at Ponder Park as I step on the misty lawn. The sweet faces of those who have arrived, peer into the distance. The park represents a heinous, yet endearing place. Unexpectedly, a numbing breeze rushes throughout my entire being. Although I’m tired, the abrupt glimpse of the landscapes beauty glorifies me.