Descriptive Narrative

Descriptive Narrative
I woke up drenched in sweat from the hot sticky humid air. It was 6:00 am. As I got ready for the day I began to feel exited because today was the
day we would spend at the beach playing and splashing in the water riding the waves riding our boogie boards oh yes today was going to be fun! As
I put on my swim suit I smelt the lingering smell of the oceans salty water from the previous time we had gone to the beach. It reminded me of how
much fun I had, had and made me even more exited
The whole time we were in the car driving to the beach I couldn't help but to remember how much I loved the ocean I loved the salty water, the huge
waves, I loved riding the waves with my board or just body surfing the waves, I loved jumping right over the waves or having them sweep me off my
feet and I would pretend I was flying.
As we got to the beach I ran to the nearest cabana plopped myself down and patiently waited for my family to catch up. When my family finally
caught up the waiter came over to our table took our order and started making our food. I then begged my dad to go swim in the water just until the
food came he said "Fine but as soon as the food gets here you and your brothers must come right when we tell you got it?"
"Got it" I said
I bolted into the water ignoring all the crazy look people were giving me. I began to splash and twirl around so happy and excited it was like the
ocean was my second home, I loved the water. Then I went farther out into the water so that I could
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Descriptive Narrative Descriptive Essay
It had been like dying, that sliding down the mountain pass. It had been like the death of someone, irrational, that sliding down the mountain pass and
into the region of dread. It was like slipping into fever, or falling down that hole in sleep from which you wake yourself whimpering. We had crossed
the mountains that day, and now we were in a strange place – a hotel in central Washington, in a town near Yakima. The eclipse we had traveled here to
see would occur early in the next morning.
I lay in bed. My husband, Gary, was reading beside me. I lay in bed and looked at the painting on the hotel room wall. It was a print of a detailed and
lifelike painting of a smiling clown's head, made out of vegetables. It was a painting of the sort...show more content...
Had the avalanche buried any cars that morning? We could not learn. This highway was the only winter road over the mountains. We waited as
highway crews bulldozed a passage through the avalanche. With two–by–fours and walls of plywood, they erected a one–way, roofed tunnel through
the avalanche. We drove through the avalanche tunnel, crossed the pass, and descended several thousand feet into central Washington and the broad
Yakima valley, about which we knew only that it was orchard country. As we lost altitude, the snows disappeared; our ears popped; the trees changed,
and in the trees were strange birds. I watched the landscape innocently, like a fool, like a diver in the rapture of the deep who plays on the bottom
while his air runs out.
The hotel lobby was a dark, derelict room, narrow as a corridor, and seemingly without air. We waited on a couch while the manager vanished upstairs
to do something unknown to our room. Beside us on an overstuffed chair, absolutely motionless, was a platinum–blond woman in her forties wearing a
black silk dress and a strand of pearls. Her long legs were crossed; she supported her head on her fist. At the dim far end of the room, their backs
toward us, sat six bald old men in their shirtsleeves, around a loud television. Two of them seemed asleep. They were drunks. "Number six!" cried the
man on television, "Number six!"
On the broad lobby desk, lighted and bubbling, was a ten–gallon aquarium

Descriptive Personal Narrative Story
"Yeah go ahead and run Trinity!!! Run like you always do!" My mom slurred sloppily from the front porch. I sprinted toward South Mission Beach. As
I ran further, I heard the screen door close with a loud clannnnng...my mom still yelling drunken nonsense in the distance. That was nothing new. My
eyes watered as I focused on my form.
High knees...elbows straight...inhale...press...shoulders square...exhale... I put my earbuds in and thought back to when I was just a little girl on the
Boca Islands of Trinidad Tobago's. I remembered the crispness of theCaribbean Sea. Almost every day I'd run barefoot along the beach, my long lanky
legs grew stronger, my feet would sinking in the sand from time to time. Many times my father would follow...show more content...
Didn 't want to get punched today. Depending on what type of "mood" my mom was in. My Trinidadian mother stood in the shadows of my curtain
that was lazily used as a door. I sat on the end of the dark purple bean bag untying my cleats then looked up at her. Clear cream color skin, like a
light mocha. Not one blemish. She had high cheek bones, with a heart shaped face taken from her Venezuelan roots. Her features included pouty lips
like mine, and a perfect nose. Deep dark brown eyes that earned her endless compliments peered at me.
Her thick long mane fail messily onto the right side of her shoulder perfectly, while she adjusted her skin tight apple red dress. She had on gold
bamboo earrings, and black Steve Madden stilettos with red heels. She could be a classy bitch when she wanted to, but would still knock a hoe
out in a heartbeat. That was the fiery side of her. She had that whole beautiful nutjob vibe going on. Her body still looked great for her age. Gravity
had been treating her well. Even despite all the boozing. Still, cigarette in one hand, her clutch in the other, my mom was a complete knockout.
Model pretty, but not model like .As I untwisted my light brown ponytail I gazed at her. Staring at a face that looked so similar to mine, but a scowl
that appeared so different at the same time. Her eye makeup ran slightly, but she was already too buzzed up to notice. My mom was a functioning
alcoholic. Every day after her telemarketing job, she would

First time? No. Last time? Possibly. The rays of July sun pound down, scorching my pale flesh, but I don't feel it. Fear augments inside me; unsure my
limits, I persist.
The lake gleamed in the bright mountain sunshine, which would have been warm if not for the breeze, yet all the campers are still full of joy. All
except me. I stripp off my towel, revealing my pale, goose–bump ridden skin and a thin black bathing suit.
My mom is staring out at the lake, the shining sun hitting her sunscreen smudged face, looking chipper, she reaches down, to pet the dorkus, fuzzy not
so white miniature poodle, Totoro, who reflects the same emotion.
I look to my dad, desperately trying to hide the fear that was spewn across my face; he looks at me and smiles, a confident smile, obviously not
reading the terror I managed to hide.
"Ready, kiddo?" he queries.
"Yes" I lie, for I could never prepare me for the daunting task that lay ahead of me.
I fumbled to peel my shoes away from my feet, the warm, sunbaked sand creeping through each crevice in every toe, filling them with warmth.
I stick my hand in the snow melt that makes up the lake known as Gerel Creek. Immediately, I remove it, then soon replace it with my foot. One after
the next, my feet carry me deeper and deeper in the frigid water. At this point, I am waist deep in it, shivering, though the cold has numbed all parts of
me, from my waist down. Suddenly and unexpectedly, I plunge, kicking my feet against the rock, and begin to

Descriptive Narrative Descriptive Short Story
The sounds of the city at night mix with the laughter of my friends. Taxis honking, subways rushing under your feet, and buses rumbling, all carrying
their cargo of dead–tired, empty–minded passengers, following the daily routine until they reach their doorstep. For once, I 'm not one of them, not
riding my train after a long day at school, brain set to automatic. Today, I am wide awake, soaring a thousand miles high.
My body tingles, still feeling the need to be on the dance floor, moving with the music. Everything is soft and a little bit muted around me, and it all
seems brighter. Everything is funny, so funny, I can't stop laughing. I didn't drink did I? It doesn't matter, because everything feels so good now. So
good, until a...show more content...
Where did it come from? Spinning around in search of the source, I notice that the dry cleaning shop behind me no longer has a front. Jagged edges
of glass cling to the frame, but I can't figure out how the glass broke, how it got onto the ground, creating a blanket of danger across the pavement.
Finally, finally, the sirens stop. It's so sudden, flooding the air with a moment of silence. My ears start to pick up the city noise again, faint and
comforting in its normality. I hear footsteps behind my, and I turn to meet them. Twopolice officers are approaching me carefully, their guns drawn.
What's happening? Why do they look like they're coming for me? I didn't do anything. Questions flicker through my mind, none of them staying long
enough for me to answer them.
Oh. It dawns on me, my mind finally clearing of the fog enough for me put together the pieces of what happened. One of my friends must have thrown
something through the window of the dry cleaner 's. That was the shattering noise, and why they were laughing. The alarm went off, that was the
ringing. Shawn and the others probably realized that the police would come, and so they all left. Left me behind.
A tsunami of emotions bashes into me. Anger, betrayal, panic, twisting tighter and tighter, knotting in my chest. I hear voices. I they're asking me
questions, but I can't understand the words. I am

Descriptive Narrative Essay
"GOAL!", Shikhar had scored a goal. I was at my friends house, my face buried in the red, leather couch. In front of me was a 65 inch Samsung
television My friend and I were playing FIFA on my XBOX and he was destroying me so far in the game. It was only the second minute and he had
already scored. My team was FC Barcelona and his team was Real Madrid. I had the legendary forward and he had the legendary FIFA skills. I was
mad and I really felt sad after he scored and I was determined to score a goal and win the game. That was mostly because before we started the game
we both made a bet of 15 dollars and would be popular at school. He also had a disadvantage in one key area , fortunately. That was his formation. His
formation was a 4–3–3 attack which was three forwards three midfielders, a left back, a right back, two center backs, and one goalie. I had a 4–3–3
holding which meant that I had a defensive midfield instead of just three plain old midfielders. Overall, this meant that I had a better structure and
could defend and while he could only attack well. Madrid had the ball and it was Modric, one of their midfielders who was dribbling. I made
Sergio Busquets ( defensive midfield) do a slide tackle. The ball ricocheted off Modric's foot and went straight to Ousmane Dembele ( left forward ).
Then came the mind blowing moves. He dribbled past the midfield and the forward. Then, he sombrero flicked Carvajal ( opposition's right back),
nutmegged Sergio Ramos ( opposition's

Narrative vs. Descriptive Writing
A narrative essay uses a point of view to tell a story. It is an engaging way for an author to tell his reader about an experience they have had or a
personal story. Descriptive writing is a description of something. It could be a person, place, thing, emotion or experience. The author is allowed more
artistic freedom when writing in descriptive form. While both descriptive and narrative essays are similar in many ways, the descriptive essays use of
language fully immerses the reader into the story and allows the reader to feel the intended emotion. Descriptive writing is painting a vivid image.
When reading I want to be able to lose myself in the writing doesn't everyone? Both narrative and descriptive writing include...show more content...
It is very important for a narrative essay to follow a sequence of events. In the narrative essay This Old House, the author followed a clear
chronological order. Sedaris told a story that included all of the typical components such as an introduction, and worked its way through all of the
events, introducing you to the characters and setting the stage along the way. Our book explains "As you learned earlier, plot is the order, or
sequence, of events that unfold in your story. It is crucial that you organize these events so that, by the end of the story, they make sense to the
reader and build up to a crucial moment in the narrative. (Connell & Sole, 2013). Sedaris did an excellent job of guiding the reader through the story.
In contrast, descriptive writing does not necessarily follow a timeline or story pattern. Descriptive style must use another form of organization. A
descriptive essay may for example separate paragraphs by the particular details being described. The author may devote an entire paragraph to a sense,
emotion or object. Amy Tan devoted one paragraph to describe her angst and dismay "When I found out that my parents had invited the minister's
family over for Christmas Eve dinner, I cried. What would Robert think of our shabby Chinese Christmas? What would he think of our noisy Chinese
relatives who lacked proper American manners? What terrible disappointment

Descriptive Narrative Writing
Stung Have you ever felt extreme pain before? The type of pain that brings you to your knees, howling out in pain? When I got stung by a jellyfish,
I felt that type of pain. We were driving our boat up the German Channel, the sky cloudless, the water a beautiful blue, and the sun shining across
our faces. Colorful fish darted away fast as fighter jets as our boat drifted through the water. My brother, mom, dad, uncle and I were riding out to
the German Channel, a popular diving site that also had many beaches. "We're here!" my uncle shouted as he powered off the engine. We climbed
off the boat and onto the beach. I tossed off my slippers and felt the soft sand beneath my feet. "What is this?!" my brother exclaimed as he pointed
at a black object that had just washed up shore. As I moved closer I saw that it was a sea cucumber! "Come over here!" I yelled. My brother and I
walked over to a part of the beach protected from the sun by tall palm trees. Our mom came over and handed us old, wood sticks pulled of from
trees. We all wrote our names in the sand and took a picture. Then my brother and I proceeded back out to the unshaded beach and we started
digging a big hole. Using some pails we had brought, we went back and forth dumping pail after pail full of water into our little hole, until finally
we had our own little pool! "Why make a pool here, when the whole ocean is waiting for you guys?" my dad asked. "So it's safe from fish!" my brother
exclaimed, sliding into the

Descriptive Narrative Story
I will never forget this scene people crying tears of joy or happiness you just couldn't tell, yelling like they were about to die it was funny and horrific
at the same time. and all of the above you would think this was because of fear but really. About three years ago it was mid–October around this time
and as usual, we were at my aunt's house in Independence Iowa. It`s a house made out of wood my aunt and uncle built it with some of their friends
when they first moved there I know that's not really relevant I just think its cool. I and my cousin Cole who is about my height have black hair and
brown eyes were doing the usual thing of riding around in his go–cart that he got from craigslist from all places it was your standard 2 seater but, boy it
races down that gravel road like nobody's business. going down the gray gravel roads at 20mph it is one of the best experiences ever. When we
finally got back to the house the next thing we did is go to the place where there seem to be pumpkins for miles and, there is free popcorn the
pumpkin patch which we usually go to every year. So as I and my brother and Cole looked furiously for a pumpkin my mom and grandma were
doing the same but, for a picture instead of a pumpkin she kept yelling. "Over there not there no over there Jack move your big head.' We climbed
over the tall wooden wagons filled with what looked like hundreds of pumpkins in each one all perfect in their own way. Finally, i found the perfect
pumpkin it was

English Descriptive Narrative essay
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in Philadelphia. The air was fresh and the fog was rolling off of the dark green oak trees. These trees were
scattered everywhere like grains of sand on a hot summer beach. The soft and lingering scent from the various kinds of flowers filled the air. This
added a sense of happiness to everyone who was celebrating my uncle's wedding, especially my sisters and I. Before the wedding, people were
gathered in large groups, everywhere, bickering with one another. Over 450 were people talking and suddenly a quietness came over the crowd. All of
them were waiting on the same thing, that fairytale moment where two people come together with one thing in common, love. As everyone started to
take their...show more content...
All of them were holding on to their lovely flowers. As for the nicely shaved men wearing matching black tuxes and purple ties, they were lined up
on the right hand side. Each of them with their hands placed in front of their body. After the bridesmaids and the groomsmen got situated it was
finally time. It was like she was walking on clouds. Walking with grace in every foot step, she came out from behind the stone wall in her long
white dress covered in a very thin lace. Everyone was watching her. It was her day to celebrate. All eyes were on her. As I took a glance at the
groom I knew this was a forever love. Tears rolled down his eyes faster and faster as his soon to be wife came out. He looked at her the same way
as almost every character in a love story would. When they held eachothers hands and said their vows, I knew right then that this was a moment of
truth. "I do." finally came out of his quivering lips and then from hers. They had finally done it. They have sealed that bond of love with the most
powerful kiss. This kiss was full of meaning and pure passion. Everyone was affected by this commitment. Some cried, others clapped, and some
just watched in awe, of what looked like a bond that could not be broken. As the ceremony neared its end, everybody went their separate ways. The
elderly people started filing out of the gardens to go home after a long memorable day. While the families had to send their kids to bed after a tiring
day of

Sirens My mom drove almost too close to the vehicle. I propped my head up on the paper wrapped pillow so that I could watch her through the
small, back windows of the ambulance doors. The sirens were hushed, almost as if there wasn't a problem at all. "Vitals are normal, 97.3В° is her
temp, only about 40 more minutes until we're there," the kind EMT was trying to lighten up the mood. My sirens might not have been screaming,
but my mind was a broken machine that needed to be fixed before my whole body could work again. The day was Tuesday, March 1, 2016. I had
stayed home from school that day due to a "migraine". My mind was numb, empty. My body had imprints from my sheets; I was glued to the only
place I felt comfort. My mom offered to take me out to enjoy some of my favorite things, pei wei and hastings. Usually, I would be up before I
could even say yes. But on that day, something big and scary was keeping me from simply eating and looking at dumb mugs and keychains with
cartoon characters on them. "Please make this go away mom," I had been crying for 3 hours now. My head felt swollen and I could hear each time
my heart pumped blood throughout my body. The thud was so loud that I couldn't focus on my surroundings. I wondered, "why am I here?" I had
not yet known my purpose and my depression was a bully, knocking me down each time I tried to come up with a reason why I was alive. My mom
came back into the room with some pain medicine and she laid next to me,

Prologue I felt my heart pounding in my chest as if it was trying escape. I started to feel nauseous. I look over at my teammate, Amos and he was
passed out; either from shock or motion sickness. The plane jerked and my head limpley flung forward and hit the chair in front of me. I struggled
to keep my eyes open as I looked up at the pilot. His seatbelt was hanging off of the chair, his eyes were closed, and from what I saw in all of the
comotion, his chest was not moving.
Oh shit, I thought. I am going to die!
I fought to keep my eyes open but they would not cooperate. Everything disappeared into absolute darkness.
10 Hours Earlier "Good luck Finley!" Exclaimed Willow as she ran into my outstretched arms. Her warmth filled my whole body as she pressed her
head into my chest.
"I won't be gone long," I reassure my girlfriend. "Three days to be exact. This is the biggest game of the year so I need to be fully ready!" It was hard to
have a girlfriend and play soccer in college. Willow was the best friend anyone could ask for. She was so supportive and never judged anyone by
how they looked. Even though I have never valued beauty, Willow was the most beautiful and elegant woman I have ever laid my eyes upon. He
long, auburn hair glowed when it was in the presence of the sun's blinding rays. He chocolate puppy–dog eyes sparkled whenever she was praised or
did something right. Willow was on the Auburn track and field team and therefore, she was extremely fit and agile.

It's hard to explain, the feelings and thoughts I had that day. Immense joy, and yet towering fear. So many words come to mind, looking back on it
now. I felt alienated, yet accepted. I felt accepted, with the other women standing by me. I felt alienated by the immense amount of mens eyes on
us. A penetrating stare, as though we didn't belong. Anxious, yet eager. It's nerve wracking being the first, being a leader. But I knew this was my
place. Superior, yet inferior. Superior, with that crisp uniform upon my body. Inferior, the mens eyes. June 28, 1976. The bus moves along,
ascending into the mountains of colorado springs. Every bump makes my stomach tie into a knot even tighter than before. There is chatter, the
sound of what we are. Teenage girls. I drift from the talk and find myself thinking back to what my father said so me so long before this day. "They
will rip you of all of your rights and hand them back to you one by one." I am prepared for it. I know that I am strong enough for the future coming
my way. The Air Force Academy is my future. A particularly jostling bump brings my back into my seat. I join into the conversations as the bus
continues its constant low hum and swaying motion. The girl across the aisle from me turns to me, "Nervous, much?" Taken aback, I ask her what she
means. "Your face, it looks a bit– uh uneasy." "Yeah, a little bit, I guess. And you aren't?" "I never said that I wasn't." She answered, a look of
knowing seemed to shine in her

Narrative Descriptive Narrative
Narrative Continuation
I woke up pretty happy, but it took a minute for reality to sink in. I couldn't believe I had to go to New Mexico. It hurt just thinking about it. I
peeked out the door and pulled in my suitcase. I took a minute to grieve, then I reluctantly walked into the kitchen to make breakfast. I made an egg,
just an egg. I really didn't want to be out there long. I ate my egg quickly, but before I could escape back into my room my mom called "We're leaving
Izzy, c'mon."
My mother looked over to me, my eyes stayed forward with a frown on my face. I should've understood why she wanted to leave, but I was so
disappointed. She was trying to make me feel better, but I was pretty mad, she was practically abandoning me. I just sat there lost in my thoughts. Soon
after she stopped, my mom walked me through the airport. We went through security and got to theplane. "Goodbye Izzy, I'll miss you," despite how
mad I was I had to hug her. "Goodbye mom." Then, I boarded my flight to New Mexico. The captain said that the flight would be two hours. It
smelled weird in there, like all of the body odor, perfume, cologne, and cat smell from around the world bottled up in one finite area. All I saw
around me were a husband and wife in the seats next to me, a crazy old lady with a squirming purse and a tail sticking out, and your typical man
sleeping on another person's shoulder. It was surprisingly quiet in the plane, not many babies crying, or people talking too loudly. My arms

Narrative and Descriptive Essay
McKinney_w5_a2.docx
Compare–Contrast Essay
Eng121: English Composition I (AXC13480)
Regina McKinney
Professor: Nancy Segovia
January 1, 2014
A narrative essay is about storytelling for a narrative story to work it must capture and hold the audience attention you must give a clear understanding
of your story. A descriptiveessay lets you describe in detail what the essay is all about using words that appeal to your sense of smell, hearing, see,
touch, and taste. A descriptive essay lets you use words that describes a person, place, or object. When I compare the author'snarrative essay "Are the
Rich Happy?" by Steven Leacock and the author's descriptive essay "Sister Flowers" by Maya Angelou it is clear that there...show more content...
Make the description vivid and interesting. I think that a descriptive essay is more powerful because it tell a story in detail. It tells you what it is all
about how to except the story where the story originated from whether it is fiction or a documentary. My opinion on the essays are similar because
narrating the story is the author who is writing the story and also describing the essays in many ways. I think you must like the descripting essay
better it is giving you vivid detail in your essay. It appeals to your senses in many ways follow your feelings when listening to a descriptive essay.
Can you feel the passion or can you taste the cookies Sister Flowers made and the lemons, sugar, in the lemonade. And I believe she made those
cookies and lemonade with lots of love for Marguerite. I believe she wanted to encourage Marguerite to talk more in class. And bring more detail to her
work. "Words mean more than what is set down on paper."(grammar.about.com) "It take the human voice to infuse them with the shades of deeper
meaning."(grammar.about.com) "I memorized the part about the human voice infusing words."(grammar.about.com) "It seemed so valid and
poetic."(grammar.about.com) My opinion is that a descriptive essay is more powerful than a

The Importance Of Descriptive Writing
The use of descriptive writing is often found in works of fiction, giving the reader the opportunity to visualize the world that the author wants them to
see. Descriptive writing becomes much more valuable, however, when it is used in non–fiction works that may be used to survive. The ability to
precisely describe plants, animals, and the environment can be the difference between life and death. This was indeed the case with the journals of the
early explorers Meriwether Lewis, William Clark, and other party members as they explored North America in the early 1800s. The accounts produced
by members of the expedition party, both written and drawn, would eventually lead to the expansion of the United States by providing accurate and
...show more content...
The men on this journey were all healthy young men excited about a paid adventure. One must consider the exertion the expedition party faced and be
able to compare the party's progress against one's own ability. If the men grew tired over a stretch of land, then the later traveler must be aware of their
own capability and accept their limitations when considering the explorer's timeframe and the amount of ground covered.
After an accident with a canoe, which occurred on the 6th of August 1805, had left Whitehouse and Clark injured Lewis wrote, "Whitehouse is in
much pain this evening with the injury one of his legs sustained from the canoe today at the time it upset and swing over him. Capt Clarks ankle is
also very painfull [sic] to him. We should have given the party a days [sic] rest some where [sic] near this place". Since the injuries occurred, the
party continued to walk for at least 10 miles before setting up camp. This was an impressive venture, considering Whitehouse could have died had the
water been any shallower. The men's ability to continue their journey despite injuries was remarkable and not easily replicated. A later traveler should
recognize this feat and should not compare himself to the accomplishment of the expedition party. Lewis had even wanted to stop the party to give the
injured men at least a day's rest, but they persevered. Also, the fact that members of the party were injured, was not necessary to include. It would

I never guessed a simple trip home would turn into a life or death situation. It neared the end of summer in 2008; my mom, grandma, and I began
coming home from our short vacation that we take every summer to Ames, Iowa while my brother and dad go to Alaska. The sun shimmered down
on us as we cruised down the various roads to arrive back home.
The traffic traveled franticly that day, forcing our old, rusty, black avalanche to exceed the maximum speed limit on Highway 13. We neared Central
City, Iowa, approximately twenty minutes from our countryside home. My mom mentioned previously that it started to appear quite gloomy in the
sky. I slowly rolled down the back window next to my seat when the heavy, damp smell of astorm emerged into my nose like a frog approaching its
prey. Ominous clouds shifted back and forth in the sky when mom finally told me to check the weather radar on her phone as she fiddled with the
radio. The radio signal only let out various pitches of static. Before I could check the radar, a loud boom rumbled in front of me; my mom slammed
on the brakes, and my grandma began latching onto her armrest. A massive oak tree lay in front of us on the road, blocking all oncoming traffic.
Somehow mom managed to swerve around the tree as the now impending storm began to swirl around us. Within a matter of seconds, hail pounded our
windshield, rain blinded the outside world, and the wind whipped even faster, obliterating everything in its sight. At five years old, I shook while
genuine terror filled in my beady eyes. My brave mother knew we couldn't pull over as the wind would carry our car off the road as if we were a small
can of soda. She kept driving through what seemed only dark grey ahead of us.
After a few more miles of hectic driving, we arrived back at our home. My mom dashed into the house while my grandma and I followed closely
behind. I sprinted over to our old television and attempted to flick on the weather station. No signal. Secondly, I tried the lights. No electricity.
After grabbing some of our prized possession and all of our cats, we fled down the basement stairs. I hit the chilly, cement floor with my tiny feet.
Brisk water grazed over the top of my foot, covering all of my

Descriptive Narrative Story
In hindsight, I realize I was not ready for a job, maybe I was just too immature. That Thursday night, in what felt like an empty cold room, I lay there
crying, wishing for everything to be over. It all started the day I turned 15, I was just a young man, who for some reason decided that it was time to
get a real job.
I woke up that hot summer day and decided that it was time I go out and apply for some jobs. I chose to apply at my favorite restaurant, not
knowing that it would be one of the worst ideas I have ever had. I remember it took about three weeks for a response, those three weeks felt like years
waiting and waiting not hearing a thing, until finally I got the call. I remember walking in for my interview all dressed up, with my hair looking shinier
than the paint on my car, slicked back like G–Eazy.
As I walked in I was greeted by the store manager a middle aged woman with wildly frizzy hair, her face resembling someone who just ran a 5K.
Rushing me to a table she sat down quickly, short of breath, she makes out the words "Hi my name is Meeghan". Nervously, I greeted her instantly
"Andrew, Andrew Sherman nice to meet you" realizing how dumb that sounded I felt a rush through my body, my face getting hotter and hotter as if I
just drank a whole bottle of sriracha. I could not believe how fast I got nervous, I thought for sure there wasn't going to be a problem because I
practiced this one interview at least a thousand times.
During the interview Meeghan brought me

The Devastation Tears cluster in my eyes. My heart pounds violently in my chest as I stand frozen–not able to think about anything except for the three
words my dad told me. I am very close with my grandparents, Right now they don't live with each other they actually have not lived with each
other for lord knows how long, but they still see each other my grandpa comes down to her apartment room for when he needs to take his
medicine because he has diabetes. A typical weekend for me is to on friday afternoons I get picked up by my mom from school, Then my mom
drops me off at my grandma's apartment room. As soon as i walk in the door the smell of coffee fills my lungs, but it is not like the coffee with
creamer it is black coffee it tastes like hot water with a bitter aftertaste, My grandma is watching ION like usual she is watching a crime show. I sat my
things down on the couch and sat down with her she asks me if i want a PB&J sandwich and a pepsi of course like always i agree and excitedly wait
for my food to be prepared, While i eat my food i hear a knock at the door i race to the door and ask who it is it is grandpa i swing the door open and
hug him tightly i close the door behind him. I wish i spent more time with my grandparents,but i have been very busy with school that i have not had
anytime plus my dad has a girlfriend who watches me while my dad is at work. My grandpa seems to be getting sick because today when i let him
into my grandmas apartment room for his

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