Patrick Slush Descriptive Writing

I called a taxi and asked the driver to speed to the Buchanan’s residence, but the Valley of Ashes was crowded with mourners so my arrival was delayed. Staring out the window I spotted Mr. Wilson continuing to sob over his beloved wife, Myrtle’s sudden death. If only others could know Daisy’s hand in the grief or Tom’s in trying to cover it up. I began to notice how fragile New York had become with the Old Money types contorting its natural order. I wondered how many more people had to die or be lied to in order for Tom and Daisy to feel safe. With my frustration beginning to intensify I barely waited for the taxi to stop before exiting. I rushed straight passed all of of Tom’s glittering servants to get to the kitchen. What I saws next made my heart drop and left me

Jonas pushed the bars with all his strength. Locked. "Please," He called into the darkness. "Is anyone there? Please, I need help!" Past the gate there lay a community that, at first glance, seemed not unlike Jonas' old home. Except, it wasn't very much like Jonas' community at all. The houses weren't all the same, and the colors- he had never seen so many house colors! The streets twisted and turned, and all the bumps and hills made them seem as if they went on forever. Jonas now saw the snow differently. Now it wasn't just a burden that slowed him down; it was beautiful! A thin, shimmery white sheet covered everything, and-

Moving to a brand new home can be very exciting, especially to an area of a completely different culture and climate. The beginning of the story starts off with the main character and his family arriving into the “New York winter” and he rushes “down the steps of the plane” sinking his “hands into the snow” (Medina 72). He is amazed by the whiteness of snow and attempts to throw snowballs at his sister until his hands are “red and wet” (Medina 72). Throughout the beginning the main character is bewildered, but yet excited by their new surroundings. When they arrive all is white and clean with New York seeming like a whole new adventure.

The unkind culture of New York was irrelevant while he was in awe of the snow and towering buildings. The pure white snow gave off a new and exciting feeling for their new home and opportunities waiting for them. As he and his

Through the strong use of figurative language in this passage of Ann Petry’s, “The Street,” Lutie Johnson’s relationship with her urban setting is effectively expressed to the reader. As Lutie experiences a relentlessly windy November night, Petry explores the harsh details of her walk by creating a vision of the environment, and conveying its relationship with Lutie through the use of selection of detail, personification, and imagery. To begin the passage, Petry utilizes selection of detail to set the tone of the environment around Lutie. The wind is the first and most exhausting character to be discussed, as “It rattled the tops of garbage cans, sucked window shades out through the top of the opened windows and set them flapping back against the windows.” This excerpt represents the simpler effects that the wind has on the environment, and is purposefully composed of words and little situations that start to build it as a possible antagonist.

I was surrounded by the sound of graphite moving anxiously over paper. The clamor filled my ears and collided with the dull ticking of the clock that hung over the SAT proctor’s disorderly, graying hair. There were only eighteen minutes left and I still had not written a single word. The prompt reverberated in my head like a ringing bell, but I could not form cohesive thoughts. My heart raced and my fingernails dug into the curve of my palm in panic, leaving small, pallid impressions in their wake. Pleading with myself, I considered the page that lay askew on the on the chipped desk in front of me. I wrote a desperate and painfully arbitrary sentence that I quickly erased. Nothing sounded right. I had studied and prepared for this moment with

The rays of cold sun escaping through the translucent clouds below resembled the clear, peacefulness below me, clearing the freshly fallen heaps of snow. After weeks of both kindness and crimes, thankfully I have witnessed no murderous intentions. My attention, although it radiates throughout the world, is focused upon a certain area in America, in which no name is exigent, however is located in a populous sector of New York. Women with baskets often thrust breadcrumbs by the handful to be, where upon they hit the ground only three count inches from her feet.

What thoughts have I tonight as I walk emptied handed and no one to be arm in arm with as I navigate the LA streets. I envy the young man wiping out on his skateboard. Look at the concern on the young woman’s eyes. She looks on with a frown. Still, he makes her laugh with his imitation of the Zombie’s walk. How much happiness is contained in the rivulets of his blood that hardens along the shin of his wounded kneecap?

Many artists have seized to capture the cold winter beauty that is New York. By using an impressionist style that incorporates a heavy contrast between light and dark represents the era of the 1990’s Lie manages to generate an image of a winter gloomy season in the painting Dusk on Lower Broadway. With the influence of former artist Monet, Lie was able to capture the essence of a gloomy winters day. This inspiration and art style led to the painting we know

The naked and fuzzy trees divide the sidewalk and the roadway. A multitude of spots are dotting them. A multitude of spots and cubes dotting the sidewalks and the roadway, they are people and horse carriages. The vertical view is executed by snow. Roofs of horse carriages, branches, asphalt covered with a light touch of white. Passersby walk in a halo of bluish species which reinforces this idea of cold.

7). He also witnesses the dark horrors of these workers dying of “pneumonia or from the sulphur in their lungs from the mills” (pg. 8). This is our first glimpse through Patrick’s eyes at the horrors the working class historically faced. Even in the Countryside, where there is little ‘light’ from development, there is a lot of danger as death spreads its shadow alongside the dimmer light of development and progress. Patrick’s own father, a self-taught explosives expert, is killed in a mining accident. Here both the metaphorical light, progress and industry, and the literal light, the dynamite explosions, cast the shadow of death onto Patrick’s father, to remind the reader how many lives of workers were sacrificed for development. No one remembers their contributions except for their closest family members.

The air is muggy and frigid this morning, typical weather for the upcoming winter season. Hanbin trudges along the pavement, smoothly blending in with the crowd of people. Looking up at the sky, the remaining spots of sunlight are hidden behind protruding clouds, and it generates a dreary feeling that presses down against the brimming streets of New York City. The city lights are blinding, people are talking, and cars are beeping and it sounds an awful lot like swearing. The clamor of music and chatter are reduced to white noise in Hanbin's ears.

Coupled with his depiction of Dublin’s immobile status through his characters, James Joyce also exemplifies his theme of paralysis through snow. In Daniel R. Schwarz’s psychoanalytic criticism of The Dead, he explains that “the snow imagery focuses our attention on a world outside Gabriel…where as ice, it suggests the emotional sterility of a world reduced to social gestures, empty talk, and loveless relationships” (Schwarz 123). However, I disagree with Schwarz and believe that James Joyce uses snow to symbolically represent the cold and dead Dublin due to its uncertain political period. When Gabriel first enters his aunt’s party, “A light fringe of snow lay like a cape on the shoulders of his overcoat and like toecaps on the toes of his galoshes; and as the buttons of his overcoat slipped with a squeaking noise through the snow-stiffened frieze, a cold fragrant air from out-of-doors escaped from crevices and folds” (The Dead 23). This symbolism comes back at the end of The Dead through Gabriel’s later thoughts on how the snow “was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills…falling upon every part of the lonely churchyard,” and touching both the living and the dead, symbolizing that not only Gabriel, but his entire country, both the living and the lifeless had been united in

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of

It was a frigid day in December. I wore so many clothes that I looked like a penguin. Every breath I took makes a small cloud and scattered. The gloves I worn seemed to be mildness like paws. The buildings behind me were covered by the thick snow. The wall became more brick-red because of the spotless white snow. Some snowflakes drift down on my hair gently. The snow was heavy, but not much wind. My friends bounced from worm house and laughed to me. “We should build a snowman. The snow is heavy enough.” One of my friends advised. We all cheered and started to pile the snow together.