Tyson Descriptive Writing

I stood near the steps to our porch and watched as the organized chaos unfolded. The younger boys wrestled on the path and little girls giggled with excitement. Dan Sims was near the spit, basting a boar while the ladies of the village carried platters of casseroles and desserts to the long tables. Trade day was always a celebration.

Nestled snuggly into the Blue Ridge Mountains was Ridgecrest, North Carolina. Getting there was no joke seeing as the ears popped every five minutes, but the scenery was beautiful.

That's the first thing I would like to note in all of this, and the first thing I would like to be noted in the future when anybody might happen across these rankings with eyes full of hindsight.

I have only been at Marist for a few days, but the many experiences I have had here made me realize how fortunate I am to be a part of this community. One of my favorite parts of being at Marist, at least while the weather is nice, is walking to class. The view of the Hudson River with the hills in the background and the train sometimes passing by is like a scene from a painting. It is such an enormous difference from what I have been used to my whole life. Gone are the days of having four minutes to walk between classes trying to push between tons of people in cramped hallways. At Marist, there are lots of students outside walking to class, jogging, driving, or biking. I really like the freedom of the campus where everyone is doing their own thing. It sometimes feels like walking through Central Park.

I was a little nervous about the wind as we climbed into the cockpit and did our preflight checks. I explained to Trevor that I have been in small airplanes before but not in this much wind. I wasn’t expecting him to actually let me take off and take over controls, but it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as I thought it would be. I was surprised on how smooth the flight was once we climbed to about 4000 feet and basically had no turbulence. After some conversation, Trevor and I both loved to fish in the area, so we aimed towards the 81 ponds and actually flew over Lake Thompson and talked about fishing most of the flight.

A shadow casted itself over the tattered menu in Addison’s hand as she shifts her gaze to the figure standing over her. An overwhelming sensation embodies her as she meets the spellbinding green eyes that stare back. The bottle green eyes that dance with gold flecks were once her grounding point yet now look so alien. Her gaze drifts along his features, taking in each of them as though he was a painting she was seeing for the first time. A painting that had been so carefully crafted yet seemed so effortless with his slightly crooked nose and flawlessly tousled hair. A small smirk playfully tugs at the corner of his lips as he slides into the battered booth seat across from her.

“I never wanted to do just one medium.”, Andrew Ricketts said on his introduction into writing. “I wanted to do poetry, and as I got older I wanted to do creative writing. And also memoir style writing.” Andrew, who claims his most favorite writing topic to be a mixture of fact and fiction, got his start at the prestigious Morehouse University. He later dropped out and attended City College of New York. Back in his concrete jungle hometown, Andrew Ricketts had his sights set on being his best version of a writer.

Geralda is in the kitchen. Her hair, in its usual short curls, is cropped to her head and is the color of a blazing fire sprouting from ashes. As the chaos begins to steady in the kitchen, her onyx eyes dart around the kitchen trying to find something to shove back into place. The constant thumping and sliding of trays comforts her more than the steady beeping of the oven. She moves in slow motion, never once putting one thing in front of the other. Her small, delicate hands reach for the rag sitting atop the shelf holding to go cups. She dips the rag into the sanitization bucket, lets it soak, then promptly takes it out. She twists the towel and begins her work of wiping down the counters.

Hello, and welcome to my Homepage, in which you will learn everything that I can fit into this text box. I absolutely love making jokes, and as a writer, would like to improve my comprehensive and explanatory skills to come up with jokes and analogies even better than the ones I have already made in the past. To me, writing is expressing yourself through words, and although I am a firm believer in "actions speak louder than words", sometimes words can be just enough to get your point across without getting physical. The only kind of writings I can see myself ever doing in the future are comedic writes. I often will jot something down and repeat it to myself several times until I'm happy with it, or come up with an even funnier version of that same sentence.

As you approach a huge green field with freshly cut grass, swarmed with anxious girls, you start to observe what is in front of you. The field is full of different colored flags; red, blue and yellow that indicate which direction to go. White lines extending across the entire field mark the course you are about to run. Stretching to a spot on the field with the rest of the team, your back turns and your attention goes toward the gunman. He begins going over the rules for a cross country race and ends with “good luck ladies.”

Entering a very... very... dark room as I felt my feet rub against the carpet floor, hearing the rain pitter patter on my window frame “click” and in an instant the room was illuminated by a small lamp that was sitting in the corner of the room. Thinking to myself, “small things can make a very big difference.”

Reality was cement and broken glass. Reality was the buzzing of cars and the cold

One bright warm sunny day, I was jumping for joy, since it was Friday! Time flew by fast, it was already time for fourth period, gym! Since it was fourth period, I left third period which was band. so I started heading off to the gym locker rooms, where everyone was waiting for the other class to leave so we can go in. When I approached everybody I saw my friend Emma. So we talked till it was time to go in the locker room, to change into uniform. 5 minutes later everybody was changed, and the people that had ms zuk, for 4th period wandered off to the east gym.

I was 14 when I was hit by a radioactive meteorite. I could see it coming from a long ways away. I could not run from it was coming right at me. I tried to get out of the way, but it was too fast. It hit and dissolved right into me and did not even hurt. I felt really weird that whole day and the next morning I woke up I was levitating in my bed. I went outside and started to fly. I am so glad that I got, learned, and used my superpower for helping people who need it.

The icy cold air assisted in my throat tightening as we headed towards Christchurch hospital. In the distance, I could see the fluorescent red sign plastered against the empty black sky it seemed to call my name. The old worn out warehouse slippers I wore on my feet were persistent at falling off with every step I took meaning keeping up with my mum was a mission in itself.