Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

She gestures us inside and I could cringe at the aroma alone. The smell of channelle makes me think someone dropped a whole bottle. Other than that, though, the view, at first sight, reminds me of my grandparents. My grandma would bake the cookies and while my grandpa would munch on them, she would put everything back where it belongs and makes sure everything is left neat. The mahogany table is perfect for two people, maybe four and the kitchen space is just the right size for my cooking needs. A maple red door frame leads to the living room and the antique upright piano the color of amber is the first insight. Every one of the eighty-eight keys and its leather padded bench contributes to its value.

I can hear the White Rabbit 's watch tocking and ticking yet I don 't see him. He is late again. I might just fire him or water him, however, that phrase goes. I let my devious grin emerge from the dust to see him in the dark dry woods, he doesn 't see me but I see him in his half ironed quarter buttoned shirt. I am not a bad kitty, I simply don’t play nice with the kittens.

The house was bought in tribute to my grandmother that passed away on new years eve in 2003. My uncle had her ashes placed in a memorial and placed in the ocean behind the house. The memorial was situated behind the home to the west, so the sun always set over her. The memorial was tied to a purple buoy with a wreath. On new years eve, every year, we would spread flowers on her ashes. We would talk to her and then celebrate her life in the most relaxing place. My uncle always envisioned a place where everyone could get together and have the time of their lives, and it was a success.

In the morning, Caireann woke me up. She stood above my bed, shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes, looking at her. Then I looked across the room to her empty bed. Andy 's empty bed sat in the corner. I swallowed, climbing out of bed.

My grandmother’s house has a very special place in my heart. As the family has gotten older and we have all had our own children we do not visit as we should. I visited with my grandmother many times when I was little. Her house always seemed to have something about it that set it apart from all the rest. As you walk into the back door of her house you would notice a long, narrow kitchen that led into the main living and dining room of her house. The smell of food home cooked food was quite evident. Grandmother cooked every day and always cooked big meals on holidays for the family.

“Brrr.” I shivered when I stepped into the shallow water. After 30 seconds, though, I adjusted.

Seeking Santa a spot near the radiator, behind the chair,my hiding place each Christmas Eve,in my dreams is always there.with twinkling lights reflecting off the icicles,so many, the star that shone so bright ontop, the gifts beneath, aplenty.I 'd sit there waiting, eager to see, the jollyold elf who seemed to know me, no movewould I make, not a peep nor a soundin case Santa came and I would be found.quiet and warm and tucked in tight, I 'dwait there alone in the dark on that night,sure I would see him, and he 'd not see me,but not once in my life was that ever to be.For I 'd just blink my eyes and open to see theChristmas sunrise was waiting for me.the cookies all eaten, the milk gone as well,like my hopes of a story that I 'd never tell,of the time I saw Santa, saw him comewatched him go, and the secret ofChristmas that I finally know...

I slam bolt upright, gasping out of the dream. My hands burrow into my sleeping bag, fingers clutching the fabric, grounding me back into reality. No one else is awake, so I sit there, trying to manage my hyperventilation, unable to understand how a dream can feel so real and still be a dream. I can’t shake the feeling of the blood oozing through my fingers, so I unzip from my sleeping bag and stumble out of the tent and into the frigid night air.

I awakened in a cold sweat, breathing tough while clutching the blankets with white knuckles. I quickly glanced from left to right, my heart only beginning to slack after I realized I was awake. Carefully stepping out of bed, still reeling from the frightening movie my brain played while I slept, I peaked toward the door and froze. Something conveyed the impression that something was different regarding my room though I couldn’t put my finger on it. Pulling a blanket around my body, I attempted to block out the frigid air and overcome my shivering.The sun barely peeked through the closed blinds of my window. It was still early dawn.

I walked into the house and dropped my book bag on the floor. It made a loud thud against the wood floors. I stood for a moment before taking off my jacket. If Locke had been home, he would have come running and asked what that sound was. Instead, the house was silent. I removed my jacket and hung it up, letting out a sigh. Feeling at ease, I walked into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich.

There’s something I need to say and what follows may not be something that you’d expect, it won’t be heartening or uplifting. If you remember today, I told you about going somewhere I wanted to go to… I’m not sure if you believed and accepted what I now confess as untrue; it is partly. I needed to pull away emotionally… from you.

It was raining. I slowly strolled through the dark, dingy streets on my own. My clothes clung to my skin as the water soaked completely through leaving my limbs numb. Every so often a drop of rain would trickle down the back on my neck making my whole body tremble. The streets were completely deserted. It felt like I had been walking for ages, the cold had completely taken over my body to the point where I could not remember at time when I was warm. I had been walking around for hours, gathering my thoughts. I liked being alone. I liked the rain. The rhythmic sound of the rain bouncing off the pavement relaxed my body and allowed me to connect with myself. I spotted at a park across the road. I walked over, sat on the bench and tensed my

It was a crisp morning in the first week of June, 2014. With her step-mom and father, Oriana and I got into the car at four o’clock in the morning and set out for the Eppley Airfield in Nebraska. The lengthy drive was masked by exotic dreams of Europe as Oriana and I slept soundly in the backseat of their champagne Cadillac. Before we knew it, the sun was creeping up from behind the scenery, eloquently painting the sky with vibrant tones of red, orange, and purple.

During the summer month of June 1830 it was very hot and sunny. The hot heat was beaming down on my head as I was working in grandma’s garden picking some peas for dinners. Every summer I always end-up at grandma’s house. She always wanted me to help her with choirs around the house during the whole summer. Well, I realize this was getting very bored to me. I wanted to have fun like my other friends, have during the summer. So I decided to ask my parents can I go to my auntie betty who live in Mississippi. I haven’t never been there before, I felt now it’s time to go there.

In the morning, the sky would turn light blue, in the afternoon a blue mixed with white, then gradually mixed with red, then dark blue at night, and finally pitch black. I saw this change of colours by gazing head high to the sky at different places.