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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The streets were empty again‚ as they had always been. A short breeze blew across the cracked roads of the city‚ and a deafening silence hung in the air. How long had I been here? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? It was like time had been compressed - or maybe it had expanded. Battered street lights towered around me with their cracked light bulbs. As I continued down the broken path before me‚ rocks and concrete slid and crunched beneath my steps. The torrid heat of the afternoon stung my skin‚ and the
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because Mike said that there was a great bar just off South Manchester. The road he made us take was an aged‚ unmaintained road with an uncountable amount of potholes and unnecessary speed brakes. (It’s not like anyone going to go more 40 mph on that!) After driving for an hour that seemed like forever we finally reached the placed he suggested. It was old‚ creaky shack in dire need of paint‚ a few metres off the main road‚ with a partially lit neon sign that seemed to flicker was if waiting to die
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Green grass stretches for miles‚ broken up around the edges with white fluffy sand that leads to the deep blue ocean. This island located in the middle of the world holds only one small‚ little house. The air was hot‚ the only relief was a light 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
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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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A Well Known Stranger With a almost regular basis he lures into the bathroom. After a quick shower‚ the morning can begin and with a hurry he begins to prepare for his day. Normally he would walk right pass the mirror in his living room‚ but not today. He cant tell why but today he sees something different in it. He positions himself right infront of the mirror. Watching the stranger in the mirror‚ he remembers the face‚ the stature. "Time changes a man." He talks to himself. "Maybe it is time
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It has been a while since I had written a letter to you. I hope all is well. I had promised earlier to write a letter about how things were going here at the front‚ however‚ I refrained from doing so because I did not want to cause alarm. The war is continuing without an end in sight‚ however‚ I have been assured that it will not be long before I can see you again. Life is quite interesting here at the front. My friends and I joined the war as a product of pride and glory. However‚ the trenches
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“What do you want from me?” I spit‚ angered by the way he can bring back the memories that are still so painful‚ so fresh in my mind. I am angered that he would have the audacity to kill my innocent daughter‚ Juliette‚ without so much as the bat of an eyelash. Oh God how much I miss her. A cloud of anger fills my vision‚ and before I realize it‚ I am on my feet‚ yanking his shirt collar towards me and wrapping my other hand around his neck. “Tell me‚ Prospero‚” I scream. “Tell me why you had to kill
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nicer person than the average person." This was said by Andy Rooney. Andy Rooney is a very‚ very wise man. He adopted a dog from an humane society once‚ just like I did. The animal shelter I got my dog from was called Humane Society Of West Michigan. The Humane Society Of West Michigan was very neat and orderly. It smelled like sanitizer and bleach mixed together. Past the main lobby there was a wide hallway you go through to get to the crowded room where they keep all the dogs. Inside this spacious
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may be true that they dug their fires into pits in the ground to hide from me‚ they will regret making it so easy for me to access them. Gripping my filth ridden rod tightly I make a final jab‚ into their very own fire pit‚ striking it as though it were one of the petty brigands. It doesn’t take very long for the rod to become engulfed in fire‚ transforming half of the rancid shaft into its own sphere of flame. Yes‚ this will do‚ "More than enough fire." I anxiously whisper to myself. It would be unfortunate
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