Essay About The One Thing I Did Last Summer

It was an ordinary day when Peter Fredward Kanzaas lost what he loved most. The Canadian summer sun brightened up his kitchen making it hard to see some parts of the room due to the glare. This, however did cause Pete to notice that his special green bag with yellow patches on it had gone missing. Pete’s missing bag had contained his most prized possessions in life. His watch that he had won from the state fair, the belt buckle that he had taken from the rodeo, a pair of gold plated socks and his lucky bottle cap were all been stolen by a thief when he or she took that green bag. The backpack full of items was the only thing that made Pete wake up in the morning and when it was stolen, it was not an option to not find it. Peter had to get his possessions back even if it was the last thing he would do.

Where did I put my keys? .. I know I had to set them down somewhere… Oh! I remember I set them on the table, silly me.

Outer people walked in as I walked out. I found other weapons in the closet. I found the lock and lock the closet with the lock. I ran from the closet with the knife.

I ripped the front door open and ran to my room, thankful that my brother Travis didn't make a surprise visit today. I rifled through my dresser, looking for my silver savior. I found what I was looking for and ripped off my jacket and backpack, and tossed them behind me. My jeans went next, the thoughts racing through my head almost unbearable.

The next morning, the alarm buzzed noisily, the sound polluting the silence. Confused for a moment, he looked around blankly. It used to be home, but now it felt unfamiliar. There was a room at the end of the corridor, the door slightly ajar. He waited, expecting the door to open, but it never did. The area was the same as the night before, empty.

Staring up at the dark ceiling, I lay on my bed, my body aching from yesterday’s fall. I really don’t want to move, my back hurting the most. My mind continues to wander back to the strange book. I was so close to maybe finding a way out of this place and now I’m not. All I had to do was just grab the book, but instead I dropped it.

I proceed past the desk and down a long narrow hallway. It was dark like a haunted house. I twirl my key in my hand.

I wander through the misty woods, pushing brambles to the sides with one hand as I guard my Canon camera with the other. I stop as come a small stream, I flip my bag to the front of me and reach into my backpack. “It has be in here somewhere.” I mumble to no one as my hands move around the items in my unorganized bag. I finally pull out my instructions on how to get to the abandon house that I had written down from the internet earlier. I shove the wrinkled paper back into my bag and cross the river then turn left. Twenty minutes later I appear at an old broken gate with a slightly sinking house behind two pine trees. My eyes dart quickly to the rusting No Trespassing sign and back again to the broken gate. I carefully lift the gate above the

When I almost reached the door, I felt something at my foot, a broken hourglass, that had ran out of sand. Shaking and suddenly bursting into a cold sweat, I furiously jammed the key in. It felt like an eternity, but finally I succeeded. Pushing the door open, and wiping a faceful of sweat from my face, I felt this wave of aromas crash over me. Putting the key in my pocket(FORESHADOWING) and then entering the cellar I tried to calm down. I tried to look for the cask of Amontillado that I bought several weeks ago. There were millions of wines in that cellar (HYPERBOLE). But at last I found it. It felt, lighter, and after opening it I realised that it was empty. I wasn’t enraged, just tired. I made my way to the door, suddenly feeling drowsy. Then I became a little bit nauseous and shaky. Looking into the darkness, I saw, darkness. So I picked up my dying torch and put it up and almost yelled “Who’s there?”. There was no reply but a figure seemed to appear in the darkness. It was carrying a scythe and it started towards me. I fell back, and was caught by the wall, slamming my head against it and dropping my torch. The figure whispered in the dark, “Free the fortunate one, for be warned fate will find

I looked around. "Yeah, maybe." She threw out her cigarette and nodded to me before walking back into her room. I stood outside, just watching room five. *What the hell could be in there?* I leaned against the door, put my ear to it and I listened. It was silent for a short while, but I heard a muffled knock come from inside. I continued to listen. Another knock. Then another knock. And then, complete silence. I kept my ear at the door, just listening, waiting. Another knock, but this time, it was against the door. I jumped back, shocked by what had just happened. I knew there was somebody or something in there and the fact that I didn't know who or what it was, had me completely horrified. I just wanted to get far away from that motel.

During the summer after I turned thirteen, I went on a vacation that changed my entire perspective on life. “Americans are so spoiled.” I remember hearing my mother proclaim this numerous times growing up. I would shake my head or roll my eyes every time, since I never quite understood what it meant. Of course, I had nothing to compare it to. I grew up in the suburbs in a middle class family. I never wanted for anything. I heard the stories of my mother and her siblings growing up; they lived in filth, they occasionally skipped meals, all seven kids slept huddled together on concrete floors. I heard those stories as if she was saying, “…I walked a mile to school, uphill both ways…” I never could have imagined the reality of what the stories truly meant until I visited my birthplace, the Philippines, for the first time.

I hadn't seen the door before. It wasn't there last night. Cautiously, I turned the handle. It seemed as though once I put my hand on the knob, it was stuck there. I slowly pulled the door open, and I was sucked into the pitch black room. It was so dark that it felt like I had my eyes closed as I floated through the air. Down I went, feeling like every second

School, to me and among many peers of my age, is not a distant term. I have spent one-third of my life time sitting in classrooms, every week since I was seven years old. After spending this much time in school, many things and experiences that happened there have left their mark in my memory. Some are small incidences while some have had a great impact on me. However, regardless the degree of significance, things that happened all contributed to shape the person that I am now.

the other side stood an old tired man in what seemed to be a butler's

There are three very important aspects that play a major rule in my life. They can be categorized as intellectual, social, and spiritual. My intellectual self is interesting because I am mainly right-brained which means that I tend to use my creativity more than my mathematical skills, also making me a visual learner. My social self consists of friends, family, and my surroundings. I spend most of my time at home with my family. Whenever I am with my friends, I observe their behaviors and listen to their opinions. I am more of an independent type of person. Being with different people has influenced me into appreciating different cultures and beliefs. I have learned things that have now been incorporated into my own set of beliefs and