Descriptive Essay Hearts were racing‚ twelve to be exact‚ lungs were being constricted tighter and tighter with every second that went by‚ joints were being pushed to their limits as their limbs stretched the farthest they could reach‚ and yet these twelve people were still able to ignore their injuries. All they revealed was happiness. There was no pain to be seen. No acknowledgement of misery because they all knew they only had those two minutes and thirty seconds to give it their all. Any sense
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Icesus Holland Brenda White English 101 16 September 2013 Descriptive Essay The beach is one of the most beautiful places in the world. Before visiting‚ I had only been to the four states‚ which is the stringy grassy fields‚ the forest of trees‚ the smelly white and black cows and pink curly tailed pigs. See I had never seen any other states but Missouri‚ Kansas‚ Oklahoma‚ and Arkansas. I love the picture in my head but it was nice to finally see something different. When my boyfriend
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Ivory Koehn 9/10/2010 Descriptive Essay Under The Raised Hand Prologue When I was a young girl learning about life and love‚ I always thought that some man would sweep me off my feet and it was my fate to be with him and only him. My mother was not a big fan of love and fate. She didn’t have a very good history of guys and relationships. She would always tell us love was not a reality and we should find someone with a lot of money. My mother is a strong feminist woman and I tried as hard
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for being ’’super women.’’ What makes a mother so special? When I was little I remember that she used to play with me a lot‚ especially with my Barbie. For me she was the most fun person I ever seen. Even if she was having a bad day or if she was busy doing things‚she always had time to play with me. My mother was petite‚ but everybody knew her. I loved the way she used to dress matching the colors from top to bottom. I loved the way she cooked those delicious recipes and when I was sick she would
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Composition 2 Descriptive Although worn out and beaten thin‚ my favorite t-shirt reigns supreme. Its rugged exterior presents a shabby disposition. Many new t-shirts have found their way into the velvet lined drawers of my antique armoire. None stand in comparison against the weathered softness of my favorite t-shirt. Folds of cotton threads have been pulled and stretched from their original contour. Nevertheless‚ its flaws are cherished. Block letters that once read Nike are barely recognizable
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The First and the Last Visit To Cedar Crest Drive There is a full moon. It is pitch black and raining outside. As I lookdown the street I can see the fog setting only feet away from me. It is on this evening when my curiosity gets the best of me. I want to know why my mother never allowed me to go down Cedar Crest Drive. I’ve heard many stories about a haunted house down there. The stories‚ however‚ have varied. I heard somebody had been gruesomely murdered in there. I also
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point to go back and visit at least once a year. I grew up with my parents and five siblings on a farm in rural Iowa. “Iowa ranks first in beef‚ pork‚ corn‚ soybean‚ and grain production” (Department of Economic Development)‚ so you can imagine how busy farm life is. It didn’t seem fun as a kid‚ waking up at the crack of dawn to do chores before school only to have more chores to do when we came home. Lucky for us there were five of us so they seemed to get done in a hurry. Even though we had a lot
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“She’s hideous!” Said my best friend Brando‚ short for Brandon. “Just do it!” he kept saying‚ along with his brother Kevin. I was afraid. “Don’t be such a pussy.” Kevin yelled as he pushed me forward‚ almost knocking me off my feet and into the cross street at the top of our cul-de-sac. That was where the house stood. Directly across Mountain Ave. That was where she would appear‚ the “hideous” woman. The one we all called Bloody Mary. All you had to do was approach the dingy house where the old wooden
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look forward to by the standards of a young elementary school boy. I followed my older cousins where ever they went through the neighborhood‚ usually the park. Around the corner from the street I lived on was Camden Park where my cousins and I spent hours during the summer and after school. Up the street from this park was a stand called New England Frozen Lemonade. Making the trip around the block to this lemonade stand was among some of the highlights of my life. Like many other kids‚
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Caribbean and south American sound turn into Puerto Rico Own music and dance called salsa. The sound hits the heart of people everywhere with its smooth jazzy sound and its upbeat dance. Salsa dancers and there partners dance the night away in the streets of Puerto Rico. The women dress in stunning traditional dresses. Wearing all white floor length dresses with
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