Descriptive Experience Essay

I woke up looking around not knowing what was going on. I looked around realizing that I was in an unknown bed. Panicking at first I tried to find my bearings, but I calmed down quickly as I watched my mother walk into the room.

I remember being awaken by the loud commotion going on from the living room, so I decided to go check. I went out calling for my parents, but to my surprise, I only saw my mom on the phone crying from the reflection of a mirror. I wondered where my dad was. I got closer towards the living room and stood by the wall. I witnessed my dad sitting down on the floor having trouble to breath complaining about chest pain while my mom stood next to him. I closed my eyes in fear. I then heard something calling me to open my eyes. It was a siren that got louder and louder each second. I stood up and saw red lights shining through the window. There was a knock at the door and my mom went to open the door. Two men and a woman came through the door in navy

I was searching through a room when my flashlight started flickering before it turned off. I heard footsteps, at first believing they were mine until I stood still and the footsteps continued. It was dark, the windows were boarded, blocking out any light from outside. Somebody else was in there with me and I know it wasn't Joel because I heard his calls for his brother echoing through the hall. The door slammed shut and I felt a cool breeze run through me.

That prior night I had agreed to watch my two younger siblings Tatiyana and Zimajay and my younger cousin Quintario while our parent attended a military ball with other family members. While Zimajay and I were lying in my mother’s soft, queen size bed, I had this horrible feeling, as if something bad was going to happen and I could not fall asleep. It was nearly ten thirty and I had to find away to get rest. So

Up until the age of six my mom and I lived in Mexico alone in a little town called San Rafael. Then one summer day after school, while my friend and I were playing outside, a strange man approached our house with luggage in his hand. He was dressed in jeans and a grey t-shirt, with a week old beard. This act seemed strange to me because other than my grandpa and uncles no other man ever came to our house, and especially not with suitcases in their hands. As the man came closer and closer to where we were playing ice cold fear entered my gut and grew bigger. Suddenly I panicked started to viciously scream in order to get my mom 's attention, who was inside cleaning. At the sound of my stentorian screams the man 's face portrayed a very sad expression which made me sad, and I ended my deafening screams. Just as I finished screaming, my mom came running out of our house but instead of being alarmed at the sight of this strange man, her expression turned from anger, to surprise, and happiness when her eyes met him. Then with a smile and tears streaming down her face she ran to the strange man and embraced him. In return the man dropped his luggage and carried my mom of the

My room turned to a crisp cold and I felt as if someone was watching me. Then I started to hear tapping and scratching on the walls behind me. I was paralyzed in fear. Eventually I worked up the courage to sprint downstairs to tell my parents what had happened yet they never believed me and had convinced me that I only have a vivid imagination. At exactly 3AM I had woken up to whispers and the sound of heavy breathing above me but this time without hesitation I slid out of my room and as I looked back to check if anything was there I saw the same blonde hair and piercing blue eyes gazing at me through my mirror. My chest felt inflamed like it was about to burst and my feet could not move as if they were chained to the floor. But the most horrible part is that none of my family believed me. And that is only her backstory. I became fascinated with ghosts I loved researching and testing things with them. I read that ghosts stick with someone lonely. Only showing itself to the one person and becoming one's best friend because they know what it feels like to be

At the start of the summer, I had the opportunity to fly to Michigan to see where my dad grew up. As I flew on the plane, I thought of all the sights I would be able to see and draw to share with my friends online about the exhausting yet fun travel to Michigan. But, as we grew closer and closer to Michigan, I was only able to see white, fluffy clouds cover the thick, oval window in front of me. So, for a while I slept and decided to not look out the window until we landed, until my overly excited mother vigoursly slapped my knee to jolt me up. I was in a state of shock but still dazy due to I was almost asleep. But, she told me to look out the window as I would see something I had never seen before. After, seeing out the window the first time,

I heard the soft murmurs of the vigilantes in the adjoining room and the telltale sounds of someone pouring a cup of coffee, I caught the muffled sobs of my aunt and the comforting noises of the people around her. I listened to the echoes of life around my person and—just like that, just before I succumbed to sleep—the answer came to me.

When I was 17 years old my best friend Alejandra lived at building in the third floor, and her apartment was number 12 and a Saturday at 7 o’ clock in the morning I went to her building and touch the door, but was apartment number 8 and I didn’t remember which was the Alejandra’s apartment, so then I touched the wrong door, left a lady and I ask her for my best friend, but She told me that I was an error because there didn’t live any Alejandra and I noticed that the lady recently woke up and I said sorry and I continue up the stairs to apartment

My family and I had planned a trip to Denver, Colorado to visit my brother and his girlfriend. It took months and months to finally have it all planned out, but we finally figured everything out. We left for the cities on a Wednesday night. We stayed in a sketchy hotel in the cities by the airport and flew out of Minneapolis around 5:30 a.m. I was so nervous, as it was my very first plane ride. The plane was quite small. Our plane was delayed due to them having to deice the plane due to all the cold. I suddenly started to feel sick, all my nerves had gotten to me so I reached for the puke bag and puked everywhere! I was so embarrassed, my family and people around me were laughing so hard at me because I had gotten myself so worked up. But once the plane started up I felt much better.

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.

Markets are prevalent all over the world. They may vary on what they have to offer and how they are set up, but what is similar amongst them is the experience, the sheer amount of diversity, and sense of community that one gets from walking through a market. The experience of a market goes far beyond the food itself. All of your senses are bombarded as you cruise along. The smell, the people, the never-ending discovery of what a place like this has to offer. As Tzipi Livni, one of the most powerful women in Israel once said, "I prefer jeans to a suit, sneakers to high heels, markets to malls”. She explains in few words that simplicity is key in life and markets are no exceptions.

It was a long time ago, and I don’t remember most of it, but what I do remember is how the floor just started to shake. I was very little, and couldn’t understand what was going on, but my mom called for my dad and told him to find my sister, Molly and get her onto the Pink Chair. The Pink Chair was a large pink chair with leaves and flowers on it. It had a huge cushion, and a back cushion, sort of like a mini couch. The leaves, which were green, contrasted greatly with the bright, cotton candy pink of the cushion color. The flowers were a softer color of pink, barely showing up, but there nonetheless. Our parents used to bring us all onto it and read to us. It was our safe place, where we would all curl up and read, or watch movies. Sometimes just to sleep. It was always a very calm affair, going onto the Pink Chair, but now there was a hint of urgency in my mom’s tone. Her face was tight, from what I can remember, and she was swaying slightly, due to the shaking of the floor. Sher cracked her knuckles and shook her hands out. Looking outside at the rattling windows, she picked me up and started to shakily walk towards the chair. I wasn’t aware that anything out of the ordinary was happening. My brain just couldn't process it. I was too young. My mother put me on the chair, and I instantly looked for my sister.

The airport terminal was quiet. Too early for travel. My mom sat on my right, and my dad on my left. The anticipation was like a heavy blanket, covering us, adding to the silence. My dad’s never been a big fan of travel, he tends to get antsy. He gets up to pace for the second time. Both my grandma’s are following him with their eyes. We still had an hour till we boarded, so there we sat. Waiting.

Ever since I could remember, I have always been able to communicate to the dead. However, when it first started, I didn’t know that they were spirits. They would play with me and be my friends. My parents just thought they were just my imaginary friends, that all change when I met my aunt.