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    9/11 Descriptive Writing

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    I remember the events of 9/11 like they were yesterday. The enormous‚ burning building collapsing to the ashy ground‚ people desperate to stop the plane that was being flown at 600 miles per hour‚ the impact of when the plane collided with the building‚ the screams and cries for help‚ along with my fellow passengers calling their loved ones to say they’re not going to make it. Yes‚ I said my fellow passengers. My name Lauren Kriewitz‚ and I am a survivor of the treacherous 9/11 attack. My flight

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    Imagine you just finished working your nine to five job and your boss is livid at you for not finishing your project by its deadline. You’re frustrated and want to get home. You stroll into the subway station and board the train en route to your house. You take a seat at the back of the train and just sit there with anguish on your mind. The train shuts its doors and the train starts moving forward. It’s a chilly winter evening and there’s a thunderstorm brewing outside. The wind is fierce‚ ricocheting

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    There are places in the world that take your breath away and make you feel alive all at once. Big Bend National Park is one of these places. Despite what many people think‚ Big Bend has more to offer than just deserts‚ cacti‚ and zero wifi. It is filled with beautiful wildlife and splendid mountains. My aunt used to live and work there as a park ranger and seeing her so little during the year made our visits over Christmas break that much more meaningful. One of those times sticks out in my mind

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    I rush downstairs as fast as a five year old with snow pants a pink puffy jacket could. I put on my warmest socks that I packed and sit down on the couch so my mom can put on my snow boots. It’s 2007 and my parents decide to take us to our grandparents house in Vermont for our school vacation. We’re getting ready to go sledding on the Mount Snow golf course. After we all have our winter clothes on‚ we head outside. We all gather up the best sleds and start our journey to the hill. Me‚ being the

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    Le Fou Descriptive Writing

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    Le Fou was a spectacular musician who loved to perform in front of spectators‚ and he loved playing all assortments of instruments. But by far‚ his favorite was the harp. Le Fou was infatuated by all string instruments‚ almost to the point of insanity. He enjoyed the feeling of the soft but coarse cords against his fingers. So when Le Fou heard the rumor of the golden harp he was obsessed‚ he had to find this “magical instrument”. Fortunately‚ Le Fou was born into a wealthy family and had inherited

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    Oh thank the Lord above! It was finally over. Getting those colorful and very annoying little squares off her choppers means a new age for her! No more of the dumb nicknames. No more Railroad Tracks‚ Steel Smile‚ or Metal Mouth. Those idiots in her class can’t call her that anymore. Three years of being slave to the orthodontists’ antics. Three years of middle school finally behind her. Three years making the most awkward era of her life are in the past. People say that going through puberty sucks

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    Staphylococcus aureus: From a Spot to the Hospital The hospital is silent this morning‚ as the sun breaks through the blinds and casts off all the silver objects in the room. My hospital bed is uncomfortable‚ and it makes me yearn for my 100-year-old mattress and many unnecessary plush-pillows. The smell of bleach and cleanliness lingers in my nose and almost makes me feel sicker. How did I end up here? Well‚ that is not an adrenaline rushed injury or a freak accident‚ but something that started

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    Even though I have ridden the Magical Express bus from Orlando Airport many times‚ I always vibrate with excitement as I crane my neck out the window to get my first glimpse of Space Mountain. The monorail zooms beside our bus‚ pointing the way to the Magic Kingdom. Finally‚ we reach the sign announcing our arrival at the Magic Kingdom. When we walk through the dark tunnel at the front gate‚ it always feels as if I am entering another world. I see Pluto hugging a boy and signing autographs.

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    Bright white lights shining above my head‚ while I watch the red velvet curtains cascade to the sides of the stage. I walk up to a sea of unfamiliar faces‚ as I hear the deafening sound of my heartbeat fill my head with anxiety. My body as still as a statue. The first time I ever performed in a play was my last. I got in a role in seventh grade‚ I was playing the Fairy Godmother in “Cinderella”. Since I never had that much acting experience‚ barely even one year of theatre. I also haven’t had much

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    Tonight at 8‚ the kidnapping of Liam Quinn a local 6-year-old boy. Details to come. A dead air fell over a vacant room‚ filled with the elements of childhood. An unoccupied race car bed‚ stark blue walls‚ and an idle toy train complimented the eerie - yet somber - atmosphere. A dark shadowy figure lurked in the corner‚ standing ten feet tall - no definite shape. Slithering onto the floor and over the bed‚ the figure moved with haste‚ attempting to lurk as an agent of subterfuge. Arriving at the

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