The Chase-An Example of Descriptive Writing
The Chase
My wrists started to ache terribly as I trudged along the hard concrete road. Usually, when I took this route home, I passed all sorts of strange looking people. Where we lived, was an odd place, the people there were very friendly, but sometimes too friendly, getting in the way of your private life, asking personal questions that you didn’t really know how to answer.
But on this particular night, a humid night at that, there was absolutely no sound to be heard. Not even the squeal of a tyre edging around the street corner, or the cackle of an old man passing by. Feeling the aching in my wrists turn to a sharp pain, I peered down at the several plastic bags that I was holding; full of the essential shopping that I had gone out to get last minute for dinner. One of the bags (the one that was hurting my wrists) was clearly overfilled, but I couldn’t do anything about that, not now, in the middle of the street. Letting out a heavy sigh, I carried on walking, reaching carelessly into my pocket to clasp my phone. In the humidity, it felt lovely to have the cold, metal block against my hands. I pulled it out, feeling around in the darkness around me for the switch to turn it on with. I paused, under a spot in which the moonlight was beaming down upon on the road. Underneath the only source of light in the pitch black city, I checked my phone for any messages or calls that we important. There was nothing, apart from one message from my sister telling me to buy her some magazines. I hadn’t and since I had already come out of the shop and had begun my walk home, I wasn’t going to go back just for her sake. Feeling even hungrier as the time sped past, I decided that it would probably just be better to go home so that I could eat as quickly as possible. My stomach however, had other ideas. The loud rumble that came from deep inside it, suggested that I should eat preferably sooner rather than later. Ignoring it, I crouched down and scooped up my plastic shopping
My wrists started to ache terribly as I trudged along the hard concrete road. Usually, when I took this route home, I passed all sorts of strange looking people. Where we lived, was an odd place, the people there were very friendly, but sometimes too friendly, getting in the way of your private life, asking personal questions that you didn’t really know how to answer.
But on this particular night, a humid night at that, there was absolutely no sound to be heard. Not even the squeal of a tyre edging around the street corner, or the cackle of an old man passing by. Feeling the aching in my wrists turn to a sharp pain, I peered down at the several plastic bags that I was holding; full of the essential shopping that I had gone out to get last minute for dinner. One of the bags (the one that was hurting my wrists) was clearly overfilled, but I couldn’t do anything about that, not now, in the middle of the street. Letting out a heavy sigh, I carried on walking, reaching carelessly into my pocket to clasp my phone. In the humidity, it felt lovely to have the cold, metal block against my hands. I pulled it out, feeling around in the darkness around me for the switch to turn it on with. I paused, under a spot in which the moonlight was beaming down upon on the road. Underneath the only source of light in the pitch black city, I checked my phone for any messages or calls that we important. There was nothing, apart from one message from my sister telling me to buy her some magazines. I hadn’t and since I had already come out of the shop and had begun my walk home, I wasn’t going to go back just for her sake. Feeling even hungrier as the time sped past, I decided that it would probably just be better to go home so that I could eat as quickly as possible. My stomach however, had other ideas. The loud rumble that came from deep inside it, suggested that I should eat preferably sooner rather than later. Ignoring it, I crouched down and scooped up my plastic shopping