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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It is a bright sunny day; the sky a soft shade of blue and a slight breeze in the air. It was a day of beauty‚ a day with no soul inside but rather enjoying the delightfulness outside. Stepping out‚ the concrete on the porch is steamed just enough to stand on bare foot. Off in the distance is the vision of feet coming into sight every couple of seconds as the swing is pushed up. Drivers pass in cars‚ each in their own trail of thoughts. The windows of every car are rolled all the way down and diverse
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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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It was a cold and windy night in the midst of October last year‚ and I was at my best friends’ house because she was hosting a little sleepover with a few friends. We had just finished watching some scary movies one after the other. She showed some frightening ones and some not so frightening‚ but they would give a hair-raising chill here and there. Around 1 to 2 a.m. all of the girls were starting to fall asleep‚ but my best friend‚ Mia‚ was not sleepy at all. I was dozing off slightly‚ but not
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Beads of sweat drip down my face and my stomach is fluttering with nerves. Footsteps get louder and louder‚ pounding outside of my door‚ pausing for just a second‚ and then my door creaks open. A terrible‚ agony filled‚ heart-wrenching sound fills my ears and surrounds me in all directions. I have lost control of my body‚ and I do not know where the ear-piercing sound
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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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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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out a nearby window and give a slight shiver. Grabbing the edges of my worn wool coat I pull the old coat tighter. The action doesn’t do much itself‚ but it makes me feel better. I look outside again‚ my eyes drifting over dull‚ empty markets‚ the slow rain drizzles down the pane of glass as I continue to look outside. A heavy cloud of gray has been hanging over the harbor city of Layset for days now. The darkness and constant cold make the city a less than desirable for pretty much anything. With
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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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Karl English 10H One Day Down‚ One Thousand to Go I gazed up into the bleak morning sky and viewed the wafts of smoke‚ anything to take my mind off what was to come. The sound of the landing craft’s engines revved up indicating we were on our final approach. I gripped my Thompson and carefully glanced over it. The functionality of this gun could mean life or death for me and so it received my dearest attention. Suddenly
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