English Descriptive Writing The Orphanage The intimidating building brought terror through the walls. Moist beds from the children’s room from the endless nights of unnerving thoughts. The house represented nothing else but desperateness and loneliness. Happiness. The children will never achieve happiness. The house was distracting to all parents. The dull‚ dark walls took away the light from the depressed kids. It was like the light gave hope like a endless tunnel of loneliness with a spark of light
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Descriptive Writing As you enter the park by pushing its big black gate you can hear the shouting of kids and the air is filled with the voices of people. On the left and right hand side there are many trees with people sitting under them reading books or having picnics. In front there is a path that goes straight and then divides into two‚ one going to the left and the other to the right. If you take the right path you could hear the shouting of children louder than before. There are kids running
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English Descriptive Writing I was walking motionlessly scanning the street going to the shops‚ it was completely dark‚ the pavements felt as if they were asleep as it was so quite. I arrived at the shop reached down and picked up the ice cold milk white as a ghost. I purchased the milk with a two pound coin‚ as i was about to leave 4 youths hooded up and covering their faces also entered the shop and i could smell the overpowering smell of cannabis . I kept a safe distance from them. I walked
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Descriptive writing – Train I walked up to the main entrance from the usual route I took every morning. The walls of the Train Station were panelled with clean cut glass there was no brick to be seen only large panels of glass and the occasional clean cut white glossed plates perfectly aligned with one another and reflecting the early morning sun. The building was contemporary; full of sharp edges‚ corners and vertical lines cutting through the city vista. As clean and neat as the building was the
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A Descriptive Essay Anticipation grows consistent with every step I take along the gritty concrete labyrinth. Beneath a blazing sun‚ the smell of baked asphalt‚ sugary cola‚ and pretzel surround me. I follow the unpainted‚ gray chain fence that leads me forward. Overhead the deafening whirl of metal and screams briefly fill the hot air. The consistent drone of greasy motors and hissing pneumatics engage my curiosity. My heart rushes like a child on Christmas morning about to receive a favorite
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to achieve my goal of being an Event Planner‚ and with the mind set of an Event Planner; I truly would not want anyone crying at their party. For the past couple of years I have struggled with what career I wanted to pursue. I tried the teaching route‚ beauty school scene‚ and even nursing‚ but through my trials and tribulations I realized that my true calling was to be an Event Planner. Ever since I was younger I always loved having parties‚ and considered each event‚ whether a holiday party‚ birthday
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Cultural Event Analysis: Heathers: The Musical The Center for the Living Arts is a small building in the downtown district in Rock Island. The district was dead except for the small line outside of a locked door. The 1989 movie Heathers had a cult following‚ people today have the same passion for Heathers: The Musical. I had first heard of the musical from people online raving about how good it was and how catchy the songs are. After I had sat though Davenport West’s spring play Seussical‚ I needed
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delved into the written word I began to recognize writing as a powerful tool for expression. I turned to poetry and short stories to capture childhood moments‚ expanding my vocabulary and becoming skilled at transferring raw emotions and ideas onto paper. My parents encouraged me to make frequent trips to the library‚ and I often staggered home beneath the weight of a pile of novels. When I entered high school as a published author and poet‚ my writing continued to mature. Although I still marveled
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My buckling legs trudge towards the fireplace to resume my task.The aching in my back resorts to unbearable as my hand reaches for the metal bucket.I squeeze the side of my rib in hopes of lessening the pain but it gets worse. It gets really worse. Unable to bear it any longer‚my knees buckle and I fall on the hardwood floor.My hands grip my sides‚hoping to stop the sudden pain‚but my attempts are futile. My bones crack as I crouch down in agony.But I know I can’t stay on the floor any longer
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Wind softly caressed my cheeks‚ sending strands of my hair dancing across the back of my neck‚ the roaring crash of the waves against the rocky shore attempted to distract me‚ and the salty scent of the sea crept through my nose. My concentration‚ however‚ never broke. It was as if all the elements of the nature surrounding me realized I wasn’t easily distracted. Everything stopped at once. In only a moment there was no longer any wind‚ no salty air‚ and no obnoxious sound. It all paused for a single
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