Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

I walked along the shoreline, pleasantly stepping from rock to rock with my fishing rod in one hand and my tackle box in the other. Even though the sun was barely hovering over the horizon, there was still an hour of good daylight left. As I looked for a place where I wanted to fish. I admired the orange reflection on the ocean. I stepped down off the big rocks, and continued on my path, stepping over seashells, bunches of seaweed, and the occasional washed up buoy. Farther down the seashore, I finally found a spot with a big boulder that jutted out into the ocean from which I could fish. I made my way out to the tip of it, and was soaked by a wave that had slammed up against the face of the rock. I tasted that distance saltiness of ocean

He had you pressed up against his hotel door, hand shoved inside your panties and nibbling at the thin skin on your neck, feeling your heart pulse and speed up along with the movements of his hand. Both of you were drunk, however that didn’t stop you both from making out at the bar and somehow walking the streets to his hotel and now you’re here? Your mind blurred as he bit down roughly and leaned your head back on the door. His free hand snuck up your shirt, cupping your breasts.

“Do you remember the red heel you always wanted to wear when you were younger,” my cousin asks. I giggle quietly as my forms a smile. I try to remember, but the memories do not come to me. I look up at her and just say yes, but why is it that I do not recall those shoes? I look down at my feet and close my eyes. I can see myself at the age of two running around in a pearly dress. I begin to scan myself in the dress, I look down, but still cannot see the shoes. I reopen my eyes and I just sigh. Have I forgotten where I came from, or is it just my mind playing tricks on me?

I was wearing a beautiful blue dress with sapphire gems all around the chest area as I entered the ball with Ciel and Sebastian. I took a good look around here, the hallway was lined with gold. There was a servant ready to escort us to the ball room. "Hello, come this way." He said, walking forward. "Wow, this place is so fancy!" I exclaimed, looking around. "It 's fake gold." Ciel bluntly replied, bringing my hopes down. I sighed. Ciel sounded like he wasn 't in a very good mood.

His fingers flowed across the piano keys like a ballerina, so elegant and graceful. His gaze was lowered to where his hands spun the melodic notes and I could make out the dark, black lashes on his eyes lined perfectly with one another. He appeared calm, serene, at peace. No frown marked his forehead, no desire tugged at his lips. He was simply sat at the back of the common room, slipped into his own world of beautiful music.

You’re walking down the sidewalk on your way home. A chilly breeze blows, and you hunch your shoulders, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket. Feeling a need for spontaneity, you decide to take a different turn. After five minutes of walking you come upon a corner store. You feel an urge to go in and you don’t know why; maybe because the store looks impossible somehow, with its smudged outline and colors that are slightly less visible than the colors of the other buildings on the street, or because of the way that none of the passersby even give it a glance.

Careful not to make a noise, though it wouldn’t matter if I did, I crept over to my victim sprawled across the floor. One, two, three. I pounded a nail into my target’s head. The satisfying crack of the skull filled the room. Around me, a pool of blood began to form. Trapping, encasing, stopping me from moving. The thick liquid moved with a purpose, though I doubt it knew what that was. Slowly, then all at once, the color drained from his face, like watching the credits of a movie fade into the screen. Gone. Until next time, but, unlike a movie, he didn’t have a next time. Sirens wailed in the distance. They’d be here soon, but it didn’t matter. They were always a couple seconds behind me and that’s all the time I needed to escape.

I wake. Cold. Alone. Confused. I am surrounded with a lot of nothing. Harshness is all around me. I can feel tears that are now dried to my face. I am not sure why I was crying, but I know that something is not right. I don’t know where I am, but my best assumption would be jail. By the looks of it, I’m a prisoner. My arms crossed over my chest like a mummy would be. They are secured down with rigidity leather belts. I can’t take a deep breath without being restricted by the belts that hold me down. My legs are cramping and all I want to do is stretch them out, but the belts restrict any movements.

There are times when people come across an object that holds a sentimental value and want to keep it close to their heart or in other instances, store it somewhere safe. Though my possession isn 't exactly an object you can hold or put away for safekeeping, but rather a place that allows family and friends to gather and dwell upon its most glorious days. A place everyone is perpetually invited and accepted for who they are. This home, I gratefully inherited from my grandparents, has become a shelter for those those in need, serves as a financial asset, and offers fond memories.

I remember that day when I loved into that town. It was a fresh and clear day. The birds were singing and the sun was shining all over. I had unpacked and had decided to explore around the place. I went through the shops and the park, and there nothing interested me. I don’t know why but, nothing was interesting. I had walked around and I was pretty sure that I had seen something shimmering in the sunlight, but when I looked closer, it was gone. Now, I will tell you how I became this: a ghost.

I lie restlessly on the steel framed bed in the Orange County Jail. I don 't regret my decision to kill off Boddy. The only thing I do regret is not doing it sooner. I pulled off the bandana that was lied around my strawberry-blonde hair. It was mopped in sweat. The summer days in Florida were hot and muggy. I felt trapped in the ugly orange outfit the guards gave the inmates to wear. They shouldn 't treat me like this, I 'm a very rich lady you know.

I drove down the street at a snails’ pace, passing the house once, twice, three times until I finally brought my car to a dead-stop around the corner, out of the line of sight if someone were to have been watching me. How naïve of me, who would have been watching me? In this place I would be an untouchable—if it weren’t for Alana. I unbuckled my seat belt, opened the door, and placed one foot on the asphalt one after another. I stood up, and began the 100-yard walk to the house (moving slower than my 90 year old Great Grandmother without her walker, mind you). It was a particularly warm night for December, but then again this is California, there is not rhyme or rhythm to our weather. As I walked I could see, over the Cliffside to my right, the dimly lit coastline and the subsequent blackness of the Pacific. Well, there I stood, the door within an arms reach, out of ways to delay my attendance further. I was, at this point, already 45 minutes late; “fashionably” late was good right? In my case I don’t know if I would’ve been considered “fashionably” late—perhaps just late (I am quite sure my faded Vans t-shirt and ripped boot-cut jeans would not be considered fashionable, by any standard). I lightly knocked on the menacing wooden doors. No response. Perhaps my faint knock was drowned out by the combined roar of voices and music inside. I knocked again, louder this time. A response.

I was in the car waiting for my mom to drop me off at practice so I can be ready for the game tomorrow. I was there I got out of the car and said by to my mom

As I opened my eyes I saw nothing but darkness. It surrounded me, comforted me, and urged me to go back to sleep. Then, I heard my Dad’s voice cutting through the pitch black. “Are you still going?” he asked. I rolled over and let out a sleepy moan. He asked again, “Do you still want to go?” I nodded my head and attempted to arouse my brain. “Alright, if you are sure you want to.” he mumbled apprehensively as he walked out of my room. I closed my eyes and began to drift back to sleep. I caught myself drifting and threw off the mountain of covers I was buried under. The cool air of my room hit me and woke me instantly. My feet hit the ice cold floor and goose bumps appeared instantly on my skin. It was 5:00 a.m. on December

Thud. Slamming my head on the table I aimed yet another piece of crumpled paper towards the bin. Naturally, it misses, adding to the pile of miscellaneous paper waste. A pained sigh escaped my lips as I resigned myself to picking up my pen. Tapping some unknown rhythm on the desk, I tried to make sense of my thoughts. The bite marks on my pen lid pressed hard groves into my tired fingers, a simple reminder of reality. I needed some sort of inspiration. Another drawn out sigh as I decided that I couldn’t bare the table’s mahogany damnation any longer. My chair screeched along the hardwood floor and I clicked my pen to cast it away. A wistful glace to the window told me that the moon was yet to rear its head. It was still safe to go out.