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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ocean floor. As I resurfaced‚ with my lungs on fire‚ I grasped my board to stay afloat and let the waves push me ashore. Propelling myself‚ I made it back to shore but in the process‚ I got shoved onto the beach varied sized rocks. There was no possible way I could push myself to the other beach‚ so I had no other choice but to stand and pull myself out of murky the water. In the midst of the rocks I cut my legs on shards of sharp-edged stones. Seeing the blood may have made me ten times more shaken
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own fright bit by bit. Droplets of rain began to pound the earths subtle surface. I tilt towards a abundantly vibrant gleam and descry a sooty cloud hovering me‚ this was a inevitably a trait of a brutal violent storm. Lightening began to roar from the anger of the violent and severe‚ storm. I drag my self towards the mansion. Reaching the highest of the steps‚ I torment my self with worry‚ like walking the steps to hell. Slowly and anxiously I approach the door. It was irresistible for me not to open
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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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A cold breeze blew in the night‚ gently brushing past the green grass that grew by a small lake. The clear water shone with a dim silvery light‚ looking like a mirror reflecting the moon and the stars. There were no clouds in the sky‚ so it was easy to see those beautiful dots of light shining brightly in the darkness‚ looking like a black mantle riddled with diamonds. It was a very pleasant night of spring‚ and anyone would find it refreshing to take a breath of fresh air in such conditions. Therefore
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The world seems hazy‚ like clouds have drifted into my vision and blinded me‚ forcing me to rely on my other senses. I listen‚ open up my ears to the world‚ but hear nothing except the occasional thud of heavy‚ ghost-like footsteps off in the distance. And then it is quiet‚ everything goes quiet‚ like all sound has been voided out of my ears‚ gone forever‚ leaving me trapped inside a prison that I don’t know how to escape. Suddenly‚ I feel the pounding in my head‚ a sharp‚ shooting pain‚ that
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Siddhartha lay in his bed in the downstairs half of the yacht which he shares with his best friend Govinda. After the years they shared as ferrymen‚ they decided to buy a yacht. Something nice and fancy to take them to places they wanted to go. The yacht- which the names the SS. enlightenment- was 200 feet long and had a downstairs and upstairs. The upstairs was where the deck was. There were sliding glass doors that led out onto the deck lining the rooms. There was a large living room with two mahogany
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cool breeze that made the grass tickle her thigh as she observed the view in front of her. The meadow overlooked the vast wide body of water that she loved dearly. Interrupting her meditative state was the screeching of her four-year-old son. On the beach‚ a few feet away was her twin boys playing in the sand. One of them in tears and the other still had one foot on the pile of sand that was once a sand castle. "Flint‚ apologize to your brother." Her demand was met with only the stubbornness of a
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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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