Narrative Essay About A Masquerade Ball

Smoke clouds drifted in the air, as the sound of metal chains thumping against thighs echoed throughout the night. Everyone was speaking loud in line, on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting to be granted access into the concert. I felt the back of my Doc Martens getting scuffed by the person behind me, as we got closer to the front of the line. The closer we got, the stronger the scent of cigarettes and marijuana became. Now we’re in reaching distance of the bowling alley door, showing our VIP passes, I opened the door as smoke clouds flooded the ceiling into the night sky.

I sprinted up the stairs, taking no time to stop for breakfast. I had to make it to the factory by 5 or I’d be beaten. The fear of punishment gave me extra speed as I ran out the door into the smoggy darkness. As I ran, I tied back my long blonde hair with the ribbon tied around my wrist. I ran down the cobblestone street, careful not to step in any of the piles of mud. The streets were devoid of carriages, anybody rich enough to own a horse wasn’t getting up this early. The only people I shared the streets with were other children and adults going to work.

New York city, as the boys arrived they could see all the people that filled the streets, young women with bobbed hair, dressed in short skirts, drinking, smoking and saying what might be termed as “unladylike” things. Many lights and advertisements. They could also hear these beautiful sounds coming from speakeasies.

As I went downstairs the tone of the room felt hot, humid, and empty. Hot, because of the burning Atlanta temperatures of ninety-eight degrees or higher. Humid, caused by the broken air conditioning and affecting the density of the atmosphere. Finally empty. The furniture was missing and minimal sounds can bounce off to make echoes. I was departing from a place that I called home. I lived at the address 353 Leisure Court for almost a year; the identity of the street brings back smiles to my face because of its pleasantry. Living here has made me feel secure like a dog to his owner. Moving away from this security brought feelings of uncertainty. My lack of confidence was about the new beginnings my family would experience after the move. But

It was the year 1922 and life hadn’t been this good in a while, times had taken a big change for the best. In Manhattan, New York, there were extravagant parties every weekend; the whole city shows up and doesn't leave until they see the sun. There was once this wealthy family living right in the middle of the roaring twenties. There was a mom, a dad, an older sister named Alice, and a younger sister named Anna. Alice loved to go to all of the huge parties, meet new people, and not come home until the morning. Every time Alice would get ready to go out for the night, Anna would watch her get ready as if she was picturing that was herself. Anna looked up at her sister and wanted to do everything she did. Alice had been talking about this party for a long time, and the night

Dear daybook… It’s Monday, I think who cares. But I have woken up in some hot place sweating like crazy. I think I am alone, but I don’t know. Last I remember is being on a plane with a bunch of other boys. So far all I’ve seen is a beach, palm trees, weird plants, and the sun glaring in my eyes. I start walking around for a while, and then I heard this weird loud noise over and over again. I began to follow it with excitement thinking I wasn’t alone. As I became closer it grew louder, I started to see other boys as well. Questioning if they were on the plane or not. As we all ended up at the same spot and there were to boys standing there saying how their names were Piggy and Ralph and they made a few rules. They also stated they we need

The essay begins with a short description of the writer’s own experience when she arrived in New York, from the bustling in the crowded streets, to the impersonal existence in her apartment, as she knows none of her neighbors and can only speculate who they are and what they are doing by the sounds they’re making. She moves on to giving several examples of how New Yorkers react with apathy when in crowds, even when something utterly absurd happens, like a woman wearing only her bathrobe on the bus exclaims that she must have forgotten her token in

Girls perch on the tables like exotic birds gossiping and giggling, a football fly’s above their heads between two jocks in varsity jackets parading their toned muscles. Groups of high schoolers sit around the room laughing. Weekend has arrived and the hallways of the school were filled with tons of kids ready to go home. Every ear filled with the sound of multiple conversations going off at once, lockers opening and closing, music blasting without. I had managed to push past the constant stream of children and to the school field. The grass was damp and covered in a thin layer of frost. As I walked my footprints were embedded, leaving a piece of me in the cold ground. I saw my friends faraway chattering and fooling around. I was stuck in the wrong crowd; they are nothing like me but somehow I am still friends with them. I slowly made my way up to my “so called friends”.

The light flashed to the mad crowd. Pushing through the crowd wearing rich brand clothing, Prada, Chanel, and Givenchy, I felt like I did not belong here, wanted to hide my five-year-old jacket, worn-out jeans. I searched for Jack, who was always flamboyant; caught my eyes with his new season outfits, piles of gifts from his rich friends, everything around him only happened in my dream. I watched him from the far side, hoping to be part of his world; I kept drinking and drinking, rejecting myself from the reality I faced.

The air reeked of alcohol, the intoxicated breaths of young people colliding together over drunken slurs to create one distinct scent. She kept her head low as she made her way through the maze made by the seemingly endless crowd. Full of regrets, she was doing all she could to get out of there, the distraction turning out to be nothing more than a few drinks with people who didn't even know when her birthday was. The song finished abruptly, followed by simultaneous cheering. She kept moving, weaving in and out of people with fierce determination until she walked right into him. She murmured a quick apology and went to continue when the familiarity of the figure in front of her hit. She hesitantly looked up, heart dropping into her stomach at the mere sight of him.

The streetlights flickered every other minute, as the sun hid behind the clouds, keeping the town a bit gloomy. I continued walking, unsure of where to go, but desperate to get back home. As I walked, I could hear laughing children echo all around me, and then the indistinct sound of the melody of the song echoed along with them. Looking ahead, I saw something, or someone standing off in the

Upon entering the mall I heard a faint echo of rock music from deep inside. Walking through piles of broken glass, avoiding hanging ceiling tiles and strung out junkies, I followed the sound of the music. It was coming from the second floor. I made my way to the broken escalator and climbed it. When I reached the top I couldn’t help but letting out a chuckle, despite my dire circumstances. The source of the music, my meeting place with Wendell, was a Hot Topic. The old kind with the fake gothic wrought iron fence. At least Wendell had a sense of humor. I reached out and pulled the gate open.

I sit in the backseat of my parent’s car with my Sister. Behind us is my best friend Kayson with his Mom, Dad and Sister. We are going to New York to stay at a campground and go to the baseball hall of fame. The car ride feels like forever but it's probably because I’m so excited. When we get to the campground we unload our stuff and Kayson and I ride our bikes around. I have to do something to occupy myself because I am so anxious to get to the Hall of Fame. Finally it is time to go. We leave the campground and head to Cooperstown where the Hall of Fame is. We pull up in front of a gigantic red brick building. Kayson and I jump out of the car and run up the steps our parents aren’t far behind. Inside it is magnificent. The walls are lined

I slipped out of bed trying my hardest not to disturb Red. I could still hear the light, upbeat tune drifting through the open window. I don't know why but there was something that was drawing me towards the sound.

The first couple steps were bumpy, my trembling feet vibrating against the crackling floor. The door swings open as I go to knock creating a loud screeching noise. As I walk into the unfamiliar home, I become more aware of the man I'm about to meet. I travel further into his world and can hear the noise coming from under my feet. I get closer and closer until I find it, the crooked door where he told me to meet him. As the stairs appears from the darkness, my path becomes lighted ahead of me.