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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having. I continued to listen to him shout profanities and the sounds of breaking things. Then‚ I heard it. A gunshot rang through the house and filled it with silence. Sobs from my father erupted shortly after‚ and another gunshot followed that. I remember the police knocking on the door and asking if everything was alright. It took all of my courage to open the door and ascend down the steps to the front door. I made it to the bottom of the steps and the walls were stained with blood. I feel sick
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movement he made. The most striking features of him were the swirling tattoos covering his body. The black lines flowed where his veins popped out. The intensity of his presence threw me off. "What are you doing here?" I spat out‚ remembering who the Ashanti were. "Looking for someone like you‚" he smiled- showing off his perfect white fangs. My heart skipped a beat and I almost forgot why I was supposed to be fighting. He took a step towards me‚ but I didn’t move. It was almost as if I couldn’t
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apart. It was as if you induced me into a long lasting coma where my dreams were more appealing than the world you left me in‚ walking alone as a lonely vessel of what I once was. Left in the dark‚ much like the night at the bar‚ my most prominent memory of us burns brighter than the spotlight did. I stub my cigarette out in the glass-cut ashtray you left when you moved out and was flooded with memories of us. I still remember the night you let me preform with the band. You kept your left hand
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what to do. The wind whistles through the trees and the branches rattle the windows of a nearby building. My hands clutch the handlebars of my bike. I stare in the dark at the text message on my phone-- “ meet me in the graveyard at 9:00 and I’ll give you the photo.” My mind implores me to turn around‚ but my heart compels me to keep moving. The rain changes from a drizzle to a downpour. A whooshing sound startles me and I look up. In the dark sky above me I see a single black bird fly across a streetlight
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look at Mr. G and focus on his almost orange irises and come back to Earth. He smiles at me with a sincere smile and holds out his hand for me to grab. I grasp onto his callused hand and pull myself out of the seat. I grab my backpack and walk to the very front of the bus smiling at the most wholehearted man I have ever met. He waves goodbye and throws a hard butterscotch candy at me as I walk off the bus. As I head for the school I hear a loud screech‚ I cover my ears and duck down into a squatting
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Describe your intellectual interests‚ their evolution‚ and what makes them exciting to you. Tell us how you will utilize the academic programs to further explore your interests‚ intended major‚ or field of study. “Look‚ Mommy‚ the sun is playing peekaboo with the clouds‚” I told my mother‚ squeezing her hand and squinting at the temperamental sky. It was my first metaphor‚ although I was unaware of it at the time; I was three years old. Even before I could read‚ I harbored a natural affinity
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baby lifted its furry chin‚ panting and digging out of the trench it had fallen in. “Well hello there‚ little one!” Her soft voice purred at the pup as she gave a toothy grin. “Are you here for the celebration?” The pup asked‚ wagging his tail in excitement as the lynx carried him by the scruff back to his family. “What celebration and why?” She mumbled through his pelt‚ trudging through the heavy snow. “Well‚ it’s Christmas‚ of course. It’s the coldest but the warmest time of the year‚ where we
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Walking down the hallway I remember experiencing the familiar feeling of anxiety drip down my spine‚ feeling the outside world getting larger‚ and myself getting smaller. I shake it off as I begin to turn and enter the dressing room door. When I enter I am welcomed by my family‚ who have been waiting to congratulate me on my first show. My eyes analyze them in order across the room. My mother‚ who used to always sing me songs when I was a child‚ not being the most excellent at it‚ but always able
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Can you imagine sharks swimming in the forest‚ where you live? It makes me scared to just think about the idea. As I am walking in the woods‚ I am startled by a floating shark. As I stand there stiff from fright‚ I wonder to myself what should I do. I look around me and see nothing but trees. As I think of a strategy‚ the shark is approaching. The shark has piercing blue eyes‚ jagged teeth‚ and speed like a race car. I feel lost due to the fright‚ but I must keep calm to figure out a plan. As the
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