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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Descriptive Writing As you enter the park by pushing its big black gate you can hear the shouting of kids and the air is filled with the voices of people. On the left and right hand side there are many trees with people sitting under them reading books or having picnics. In front there is a path that goes straight and then divides into two‚ one going to the left and the other to the right. If you take the right path you could hear the shouting of children louder than before. There are kids running
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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 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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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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become automatized to many individuals. For example‚ writing and reading becomes automatic over time‚ for the reason that one simply learns how to do it. Other behaviors like playing an instrument‚ or painting become automatized over time as well. Automatization becomes a part of your daily lifestyle. For the reason that we do perform a good amout of behaviors very efficiently and effortlessly becauses they become habits over time. Many people have different opinions of they way they perform certain
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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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In his essay‚ “The Importance of Writing Badly‚” Bruce Ballenger encourages students to write freely and to not worry about finding the “perfect way of saying it.” I feel by saying this he means to not worry about what you’re writing and it may not necessarily be perfect‚ but that you write what you are thinking and continue writing even if it’s bad or may not make sense. He means to put all your thoughts down on paper and start from there. Ballenger gives his students permission to write badly.
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My buckling legs trudge towards the fireplace to resume my task.The aching in my back resorts to unbearable as my hand reaches for the metal bucket.I squeeze the side of my rib in hopes of lessening the pain but it gets worse. It gets really worse. Unable to bear it any longer‚my knees buckle and I fall on the hardwood floor.My hands grip my sides‚hoping to stop the sudden pain‚but my attempts are futile. My bones crack as I crouch down in agony.But I know I can’t stay on the floor any longer
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that there was one boat that stood out; it was a classic fishing boat‚ that appeared a little ways off from the dock‚ gently rocking as the rippling waves crashed in the sides of it. The captain of the boat leaned on the captain’s chair while drinking what looked to be a thermos of coffee. He was skinny‚ wore glasses and had the build of a long distance runner. Once he saw my father and I advancing down the gradual paved slope to the dock‚ he quickly put his thermos down and greeted us. The captain cleared
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