descriptive essay house on fire The House on Fire That cold night of December 2004 had left behind a memory which will stay in my mind for a never ending period of time. That night was not the same as the rest of the days in my life. Instead of going to bed‚ that night I was standing in the middle of the road‚ in complete terror. My heartbeat was accelerating
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My House. Upon entering my house‚ you notice the mismatched brown and blue plaid couches under bare walls. A huge television blocks the only window in the room‚ with an old scratched coffee table groaning under a weeks worth of mail. Guacamole colored shag carpet over powers the cheap Asian rug trying to smother it. The blue and brown couches are as comfortable as reclining on bales of straw covered with course burlap. A pomegranate candle sits on top of the television and is lit every morning to
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Have you ever wished you could visit a place that no longer exists? I’m not talking about your favorite store that’s gone out of business‚ a restaurant that’s closed down or a place that’s still here but out of your reach. Even though I haven’t been there in over seven years‚ I remember every detail like I was just there yesterday. Maybe‚ it’s because I spent most of my childhood there I remember what it look like‚ feel like and smell like. But because this place no longer exists‚ I can only visit
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Lai Xu Per. 10 2-4-03 A House to Remember I have moved in and out of many houses throughout the years‚ but none of them were as important to me as the house in which I grew up. I must admit that this house‚ although enormous‚ was neither the nicest nor the most comfortable house‚ yet my nostalgic nature has propelled me to treasure that house above all others. Having parted it for almost ten years‚ some details of the house are out of my grasp. The memory of the house now stands as a symbol of
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I used to always go to my grandparents house. Even though they haven’t lived in their old house in a while‚ I will always remember it. It is a place I loved and have many memories in. My grandparent’s house was my home away from home. They were very hardworking‚ caring‚ and strict and the way their house felt reflected their personalities. The house I will forever have embedded in my mind was located in the rural town of Bovina‚ Texas. This was the house my father and his twelve brothers and sisters
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Descriptive writing on satis house As I approached Satis house inside of my carriage I could feel the nerves growing inside of me. I got close to the rusted gates and stopped I had to get out and walk up to the old withered gates. I felt my feet stick to the ground and I found it quite hard to breath. The sounds around me was getting very load like I was standing next to a roaring plane even know I was getting further away I could hear the crows in the background and the snorting horses. When
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He sits on the steps in front of his brown house. One foot on the sidewalk the other leg bent at the knee. The orange glow of his cigarette held inches from his yellowing teeth. From inside the house he hears shouting. He stands‚ his light washed jeans are worn down at the knees. He stubs the cigarette in green ceramic ashtray on top of the wooden banister. Taking out a lighter‚ he walks over to his car. Placing one foot on the gray rear bumper‚ he lights a second cigarette. The luminescent street
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the school bus.The barely graveled driveway seems as long as the road.Situtated in the middle of ten acres is a worn and faded domicile but thats not how it revealed to me. The lengthy front porch bordering the entire front of the dark-clored house always enlightened with the sun an mama’s brilliance. Aligned with taupe colored spindle rails that we would scramble through playing chase as children. Descending from the edge of the crest aligning the entire porch‚ were mama’s cheerully tinted corded
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Absolutely nothing in this known world can break the silence—the room was lifeless. The floorboard painfully cries under the teacher’s fantastic high-heeled shoes; it invades the monastic stillness. Under the scrawls of a madman‚ written in a jet-black marker that has seen the end of its days a long time ago‚ slivers of the once pure whiteboard remains. My eyes dart towards the window as I stare at the barren tree branches; they shiver‚ afraid‚ in the thick cold and velvety air of winter. As my stoic
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The front door opened slowly‚ letting out the same creaking sound that seemed to never stop reverberating through the house. The same heavy footsteps pounded in the foyer; a sigh escaped from Louise Millard’s lips‚ knowing she’d have to clean up the stains her husband’s filthy shoes left on the carpet‚ despite her repeatedly telling him not to wear his shoes in the house. Brently Mallard had never been very good at listening to her anyway. She was standing in the kitchen when he slammed the front
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