Descriptive Writing On Homelessness

The mouldy, rotting, brown house stood in front of Emily, only fear keeping her feet planted to the ground. Moaning and creaking noises being projected from the house. The grass was damp from the evening fog and every time she took a step the mud squelched. The bottom step squeaked as she applied pressure with her foot, she let out a sigh of relief as the old structure hadn’t swallowed her up. The door, slightly off colour from the rest of the house, loomed over her like a giant as he reached for the brass door handle. A shiver ran through her body like an electric current, the musty smell of a house that had been long abandoned filled Emily’s nose. It was dim and uninviting. The furniture dusty and old, looking as if it would crumble to dust if she was to touch it. Mould ate away at

I walk along the bumpy sidewalk as I begin the daily search for food. This morning, like all others I can remember, I woke to darkness, crawled from the hill, and made the usual trek to this harsh, gray strip. Everyday, I have to forage for food for the colony. I don’t complain, though. Life could be worse. One day, I was scavenging by a red flower bush when a terrible shadow came over me and a massive, white object came down and crushed two legs of one of my co-workers. The white object continued down the sidewalk, alternating with another. They were attached to the bottom of one of the tan beasts we call “hoarders”. I had to help my co-worker back to the hill and then we had to sleep on empty stomachs as punishment for not bringing food.

The night drew closer around the individuals who, some in dreams, some in panic, seemed to react to impending danger and turned, some to nightmares, some to an eerie calm, as those on death row that accepted their demise for what it was, an abrupt shattering of their existence. Be that as it may, however, some did not wish to go so simply. While some wished for a calm ending, but embraced nevertheless a less subtle end, that of fire and mutilation, others feared it for what it was, or what it could be. Some feared being lost, trapped in a dungeon of previously sound architecture, to watch the edges of their vision turn to the blackness of

The low ceiling cowered above and the black plastic chairs formed a restless crowd around me. From my seat, I could smell the acute scent of cleaning fluid, whiteboard markers, and the nauseating perfume of the girl sitting next to me. Like so many other students, she exuded concentration. Her brows were drawn as her hand moved rapidly over the testing booklet, only pausing to reposition herself or cast an almost imperceptible sidelong glance. The effortlessness of her actions furthered my anxiety as I began tapping my foot uneasily against the speckled linoleum floor. Through the dusty shades that hung precariously in front the only window in the room, I could see the outline of a solitary building shadowed by the dense gray fog that clung to the courtyard outside. At that moment, I would have given anything to be able to run and scream at the top of my lungs. I had an inexplicable urge to break free from the confinement of that room and what it

Upon opening the back door, Vasquez observed that there was just enough space to squeeze past the refrigerator blocking the exit. The air smelled of burned rubber and melted wires; a damp ash covered the ground, sticking to their boots. In the kitchen, Vasquez and Fogg discerned only smoke and heat damage—a sign that the fire had not originated there—and so they pushed deeper into the nine-hundred-and-seventy-five-square-foot building. A central corridor led past a utility room and the master bedroom, then past a small living room, on the left, and the children’s bedroom, on the right, ending at the front door, which opened onto the porch. Vasquez tried to take in everything, a process that he compared to entering one’s mother-in-law’s house for the first time: “I have the same curiosity.”

The bunkhouse was nearly empty, the men in the dining hall. The sun was just rising above the horizon, peeking through the dusty windows. If a blind man walked into the rectangular building, he would have never known a man named George was sitting on a bunk near the blackened stove, gazing at the floor, his eyes full of morose. The mattress next to him and the shelves hanging above it were empty, as if no one had sat on the bed or placed their belongings on the makeshift apple box shelves in a long while.

help but wonder why he is on house arrest. I don’t think much about it, he probably did something harmless, like lighting up in a park. He feeds my dog and waves to me when I get home everyday, but I’m not gonna lie, I do keep my space. Today is different though, I had a really great day, and already in a friendly mood, so when I got home and I saw Mr.Flufferson with him in his front steps I didn’t hesitate to come and grab him. “Hi” “hey” I said. “He was pretty hungry” “thanks for feeding him” I said. It’s nice to see him engaging with me, I love interacting with my neighbors. He asked me to come in for tea, and I mean why not. His house is quaint. It doesn’t look like he’s hosted anyone in years.

Where the colorless tiles ended, a dark carpeting started. He looked further right, to the wall beyond the flooring, seeing the silhouettes of several stacks of boxes and metal racks used to hold clothing. From there, he looked ahead the thirty-foot space to the far wall, the view showing him empty floor space from where he stood, its emptiness ending at the building’s right wall.

As we know there a lot of homeless people in Los Angeles. Each year the population of homelessness grows each day. Homelessness is an issue because it affects the community. The cause of people might be because the made a bad choice and at the end they regret it. After being homeless, they can imagine having a great job or career, owing a house and their own property they want to have wealthy lives again like they had before being homeless. Homeless people wanted to bring back their lives as one piece. People who have become homeless might have lost their jobs causing them to be homeless. Los Angeles County last April, her benefits of three hundred and fifty five was suspended on October after EDD did not respond to her requests to

As he sat stiff backed and upright in the hard wooden chair, Jotham looked around anxiously. He could only see three of the walls, and the ceiling, if he craned his neck upwards, but that was enough to make him very uneasy indeed. They were grey and bare - not silver grey, but a horrible murky grey, that made it seem like everything was closing in on him. The room was rectangular; not at all wide; there was perhaps a metre between him and the nearer two walls, but it was extremely lengthy; probably about fifteen metres long.

I took a deep breath as I walked through the doorway. The door was stuck open, hanging on just one of its hinges. It was clear that no one had been near this place in a long time. As I entered, a stench hit me. It smelt sickly sweet, almost like rotten fairy floss. I looked around the room at the faded and ripped wallpaper, and the broken furniture. The air was so thick with dust it was almost impossible to breathe, and everything was thickly covered with dust. The little light there was came from the cracks in the yellowed blinds.

Hell, If I could, I would have turned right around. But I couldn’t. There was still something blocking my free will. It wanted me to go inside one of the buildings. Seconds later I feel the same force dragging me towards the A lettered building. 4 windows covered with dust shadow the view from the inside. I can barely make out the structures inside. Obviously everything was abandoned, so the sound of nothingness, not even the wind, was very eery. I arrived to the front entrance. You could clearly see how old everything was. The brick and concrete were beginning to crumble, chunks of rock falling from the building's sides. A large rusty chain was keeping the twin metal doors locked with a simple padlock on them. The rust seemed as though it was severe. A simple pull and the whole thing came apart with the lock on the ground. “How long has this been here?”, i question. Rust shouldn’t have weakened the metal that much. My legs alert me once more and I continue forward march. Through the twin doors, I was in what looked like an old, burned office. There was a receptionists desk in front of me charred black, filing cabinets all around were also charred. Everything in there was burnt to a crisp. There was no smell in there, so this was not recent. I continued up to some metal stairs which made some uneasy noises. Once up there was only one place to go, a conference room of sorts. Charred tables and chairs, but my legs keep me moving. They take me

It looked like the sun had given up on trying to break through the iron curtain of clouds that it decided to lounge behind them. As we nervously walked towards the battle of our lives, the castle silhouetted behind us like someone faintly saying goodbye. The narrow barren streets were scattered with muculent mud and broken decomposed parts of the castle lay beside it reminding us that danger was slowly approaching. The street was a skeleton, stripped of its flesh. All that remains was the broken parts of the concrete structure. Quiet and derelict. The street was a river of the rusted burnt charcoal like concrete parts of the castle. Perhaps years back this street was immersed in pools of yellow light from the assaulted street lamps. Walking past the street lamps made the scent of burnt smoke go inside me like a barren soul. The street lamps were concealing us and we were inferior to the street lamps. The street lamps were covering us with darkness reminding us of the danger ahead of

I stared in horror – that wall was stained with gruesome blood stains. What the smell was became all too obvious and I felt the need to vomit… that motion put away and forgotten in an instant when the shuffling of feet rustled behind me. Panic. I turned around in a blur, my eyes huge and watering. My stomach stirred in the slightest. A lamp? Indeed, a tall standing lamp radiated a warm light only a few metres in front of me. Was it real or a figment of my abused mind? Curiosity would get the best of me, lending me a tiny spurt of energy to boost me on my feet. Teetering footsteps led me forward cautiously, random tremors reminding me of my weakness. The lamp was close enough to touch, its friendly warmth the only hope in the world to me. Basking in it for some slow seconds, I wondered, maybe there were more things in the room that hadn’t been revealed to the naked eye? Turning sharp on my heel, I let out a blood curdling screech as I came face to face with the most horrific thing I had ever seen. Huge fly-like eyes took in my paling complexion, and a lopsided smile of stinking razor sharp teeth mocked me. Rancid skin that looked like the algae layer that sat upon a swamp bubbled and oozed, trickling down a sharply shaped ‘face’. Flight or fight reaction chose the obvious option and I turned back again to run. Where, I did not

The homeless stand down was an eye-opener experience for me. I had the opportunity to interact with several individuals, and one family. Initially I conducted some interviews with them to help complete the questionnaire; and the remainder of the time, I escorted the individuals and helped them choose items that were necessary for them. As I talked to each of them, I realized that the present state of these individuals were a product of the current economic situations. According to the National Homeless Coalition (2009), work factors are one of the many reasons why individuals are homeless. One of the individuals that I spoke to informed me that he was working a regular nine to five job at a construction site, but now due to the