Descriptive Writing
Q: Describe a party in full swing, and then what the place is like when all the
visitors have gone home.
Flowing from the stereo, the beats of music bumped and thumped up and down, the disco-jockey
directing the dancer’s drops and dives. Cups of fizzy, mellow orange soda sloshed from side to
side as arms waved and swayed, the sweet, tangy liquid gulped down in a frenzy before heads
push through the squashed crowd to reach out at the punch table, where the aroma of cheesy
Cheetos, salty potato chips, sour yet tangy ranch and hot cheesy pizza wafted into the stuffy,
warm air.
The comfy cornflower couch was crammed with countless numbers packed in a chattering
crowd, each one seeming to croon to the music, like parrots squawking constantly. Spots of
multi-colored red, green, blue light whirled and gleamed against the shiny make-up lathered on
their faces and the slick gel in their hair as they stomped their high heels and flat Converse to the
blasting music. Sharp darts and round rubber balls moved across the room, accompanied by an
“ooh” or “aah” each time one landed. Eyelids closing heavily, I drifted off into an elusive dream,
like a puppy taking a short nap after rampant playtime.
Suddenly, the thud of the door shook me awake to reality - echoing through the empty hall,
breaking the eerie silence, complementing the chilly air drifting in from the half-open window.
Bleach! The pungent after-taste dwelling in mouth couldn’t nearly be soothed by the chunks left
on the messy paper plates scattered on the floor, neither could it be assuaged by the pools of
brown and yellow liquid on the table that had lost their fizz.
I gauged each step through the fur hats and coats lying strewn, goosebumps forming on my arms
at the thought that each one might snap and bounce to life. Steadily, sunlight began to pour
through the window, illuminating in a bright, mellow light, revealing the aftermath of the quake
of a party. It was seldom when quiet moments occurred, as rare as a four-leafed clover. It’s
always good to celebrate, but sometimes it’s good to be left to one’s own thoughts - and not a
mess left to clean!
(356 words)
, Descriptive Writing
Q: Describe your feelings and reactions when you realize you have lost a very
important item.
I kept glancing at the bleachers, craning my neck over the bouncing pool of people, like a gazelle
flinching to the slightest movement in the tall, dancing prairie grass. ‘The safest spot’ Elaine had
said, the stronghold safe, where nothing could penetrate - laying in the gaps between the planks
of metal was my black, leathery purse. That shiny penny’s buckle gleamed against the spots of
flashing multicolored disco lights.
Each jerk and kick, each twist and turn towards the right hand, upper corner of the wall of the
metal acted as an impetus to my countless worried grimaces, my popping eyes, my hand
reaching absently at my side, longing for the reassuring ‘click’ of the clip’s closing. The
sloshing, fruity punch could wet it, the cheesy, saucy pizza could blemish it, and the harsh beats
of the pounding music could only shatter it, leaving only a tainted white sand.
Shrill screams rang out, bursts of long wails like lava oozing out of a trembling volcano. I ran at
the speed of light, sprang with kangaroo feet, reaching and clawing into the depths of the vast
emptiness, only to abandon my heart and let it sink into the depths of guilt. Using my mellifluous
voice, I persuaded my friends to into an intensive search party, but somehow I heard barking,
coarse screeches parting from my matted lips as I awkwardly scooted on the cold, bare ground,
running my hands over each diminutive nook and cranny.
As I closed my eyes, pictures began to emerge - father handing it to me, a small cemetery, and
raindrops blending in with the tears on my cheek as I carefully clasped it in my hands. I pinched
myself once, twice - leaving not this nightmare but a red bruise in its place. The empty hands of
my returning team caused eyeliner to streak down, staining my beautiful white dress. I had left
no stone unturned. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, adamant to either fly away from
mother’s soft, disappointing eyes, or fight the damned figure swinging the golden chains of my
priceless purse. My eyes blazed in fury, seeking revenge.
(365 words)
, Descriptive Writing
Q: Describe a noisy group of people passing by, and your thoughts and
feelings about them at the time.
Ah. As the cool mist blessed my face with the scent of towering pine trees and a breeze carried
sweet, honey-combed flavour into my head, I sighed a sigh of relief, the blue jays ecstatically
agreeing with my satisfaction, like a child sucking silently on a lollipop, enjoying every heavy,
luxurious lick. They chirped a mellifluous tune, but suddenly stopped. A garbled up, static radio
announcement put on full blast, their chatter was incessant. A shout and then bursts of laughter
erupted and broke through the silence, like nails scratching the chalkboard in a silent yet studious
classroom. I, the teacher, snapped my head around and narrowed my eyes disapprovingly,
searching for those responsible.
Sniffing the air, trying to escape the noise (as frustrating as a beeping alarm), I instantly detected
a foul, stinky odor, and repulsed as I was, gagged. Bleh! Was it the the disgusting smell of
sticky, orange-fingered cheetos? Or the sweat and mold coming from the “hikers” grub covered,
musty old boots? I’d have to stray a mile away in order to banish that scent, like staying away
from a aggressive skunk. They pushed fiercely through the heavy, bushy green foliage,
destroying the delicate, soft nature in their path with rough and careless strokes, with the energy
(and demeanour) of over excited clowns. I groaned and nodded my head in disbelief, my blood
boiling and anger thumping in my head.
Immovable as an elephant, yet disruptive as hooting monkeys, they stopped to stare at a
frightened and beautiful deer. Pointing and nodding at it, their camera shutters were
loudspeakers, clicking away without regard or respect. They were as loquacious as little, spoilt
children, moving quickly from one thing to the next, discarding each one from their thoughts
much like they hastily threw the crinkly wrappers of their sugar-hyped, saturated, and
abnormally hot pink pop tarts on the natural, sacred earth. As I bent low, picking up their mess,
balling the trash angrily up my fists, they sniggered at me like I was the school janitor, and I, in
return, glared at them, my eyes piercing daggers into their souls. I pursed my lips. I crossed my
arms. I took hate from the deepest pits of my heart and hurled it straight at them.
Flashing their bright red iPhones, dancing like incomprehensible hooligans to the screeching,
grating “tunes,” emitting like radioactive material, I could only stare in disbelief. Their
soft, artificially sun-tanned skin stood in stark contrast to the coarse crumbly gravel that is Earth.
Their feet pounded restlessly. Their eyes scanned meaninglessly. Their minds were consumed.
Now, I could only look at them in a sort of pity. They were overtaken by machines, never to
experience true life. They were piglets on a bacon farm, unaware of what lay ahead.
(464 words)
Q: Describe a party in full swing, and then what the place is like when all the
visitors have gone home.
Flowing from the stereo, the beats of music bumped and thumped up and down, the disco-jockey
directing the dancer’s drops and dives. Cups of fizzy, mellow orange soda sloshed from side to
side as arms waved and swayed, the sweet, tangy liquid gulped down in a frenzy before heads
push through the squashed crowd to reach out at the punch table, where the aroma of cheesy
Cheetos, salty potato chips, sour yet tangy ranch and hot cheesy pizza wafted into the stuffy,
warm air.
The comfy cornflower couch was crammed with countless numbers packed in a chattering
crowd, each one seeming to croon to the music, like parrots squawking constantly. Spots of
multi-colored red, green, blue light whirled and gleamed against the shiny make-up lathered on
their faces and the slick gel in their hair as they stomped their high heels and flat Converse to the
blasting music. Sharp darts and round rubber balls moved across the room, accompanied by an
“ooh” or “aah” each time one landed. Eyelids closing heavily, I drifted off into an elusive dream,
like a puppy taking a short nap after rampant playtime.
Suddenly, the thud of the door shook me awake to reality - echoing through the empty hall,
breaking the eerie silence, complementing the chilly air drifting in from the half-open window.
Bleach! The pungent after-taste dwelling in mouth couldn’t nearly be soothed by the chunks left
on the messy paper plates scattered on the floor, neither could it be assuaged by the pools of
brown and yellow liquid on the table that had lost their fizz.
I gauged each step through the fur hats and coats lying strewn, goosebumps forming on my arms
at the thought that each one might snap and bounce to life. Steadily, sunlight began to pour
through the window, illuminating in a bright, mellow light, revealing the aftermath of the quake
of a party. It was seldom when quiet moments occurred, as rare as a four-leafed clover. It’s
always good to celebrate, but sometimes it’s good to be left to one’s own thoughts - and not a
mess left to clean!
(356 words)
, Descriptive Writing
Q: Describe your feelings and reactions when you realize you have lost a very
important item.
I kept glancing at the bleachers, craning my neck over the bouncing pool of people, like a gazelle
flinching to the slightest movement in the tall, dancing prairie grass. ‘The safest spot’ Elaine had
said, the stronghold safe, where nothing could penetrate - laying in the gaps between the planks
of metal was my black, leathery purse. That shiny penny’s buckle gleamed against the spots of
flashing multicolored disco lights.
Each jerk and kick, each twist and turn towards the right hand, upper corner of the wall of the
metal acted as an impetus to my countless worried grimaces, my popping eyes, my hand
reaching absently at my side, longing for the reassuring ‘click’ of the clip’s closing. The
sloshing, fruity punch could wet it, the cheesy, saucy pizza could blemish it, and the harsh beats
of the pounding music could only shatter it, leaving only a tainted white sand.
Shrill screams rang out, bursts of long wails like lava oozing out of a trembling volcano. I ran at
the speed of light, sprang with kangaroo feet, reaching and clawing into the depths of the vast
emptiness, only to abandon my heart and let it sink into the depths of guilt. Using my mellifluous
voice, I persuaded my friends to into an intensive search party, but somehow I heard barking,
coarse screeches parting from my matted lips as I awkwardly scooted on the cold, bare ground,
running my hands over each diminutive nook and cranny.
As I closed my eyes, pictures began to emerge - father handing it to me, a small cemetery, and
raindrops blending in with the tears on my cheek as I carefully clasped it in my hands. I pinched
myself once, twice - leaving not this nightmare but a red bruise in its place. The empty hands of
my returning team caused eyeliner to streak down, staining my beautiful white dress. I had left
no stone unturned. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, adamant to either fly away from
mother’s soft, disappointing eyes, or fight the damned figure swinging the golden chains of my
priceless purse. My eyes blazed in fury, seeking revenge.
(365 words)
, Descriptive Writing
Q: Describe a noisy group of people passing by, and your thoughts and
feelings about them at the time.
Ah. As the cool mist blessed my face with the scent of towering pine trees and a breeze carried
sweet, honey-combed flavour into my head, I sighed a sigh of relief, the blue jays ecstatically
agreeing with my satisfaction, like a child sucking silently on a lollipop, enjoying every heavy,
luxurious lick. They chirped a mellifluous tune, but suddenly stopped. A garbled up, static radio
announcement put on full blast, their chatter was incessant. A shout and then bursts of laughter
erupted and broke through the silence, like nails scratching the chalkboard in a silent yet studious
classroom. I, the teacher, snapped my head around and narrowed my eyes disapprovingly,
searching for those responsible.
Sniffing the air, trying to escape the noise (as frustrating as a beeping alarm), I instantly detected
a foul, stinky odor, and repulsed as I was, gagged. Bleh! Was it the the disgusting smell of
sticky, orange-fingered cheetos? Or the sweat and mold coming from the “hikers” grub covered,
musty old boots? I’d have to stray a mile away in order to banish that scent, like staying away
from a aggressive skunk. They pushed fiercely through the heavy, bushy green foliage,
destroying the delicate, soft nature in their path with rough and careless strokes, with the energy
(and demeanour) of over excited clowns. I groaned and nodded my head in disbelief, my blood
boiling and anger thumping in my head.
Immovable as an elephant, yet disruptive as hooting monkeys, they stopped to stare at a
frightened and beautiful deer. Pointing and nodding at it, their camera shutters were
loudspeakers, clicking away without regard or respect. They were as loquacious as little, spoilt
children, moving quickly from one thing to the next, discarding each one from their thoughts
much like they hastily threw the crinkly wrappers of their sugar-hyped, saturated, and
abnormally hot pink pop tarts on the natural, sacred earth. As I bent low, picking up their mess,
balling the trash angrily up my fists, they sniggered at me like I was the school janitor, and I, in
return, glared at them, my eyes piercing daggers into their souls. I pursed my lips. I crossed my
arms. I took hate from the deepest pits of my heart and hurled it straight at them.
Flashing their bright red iPhones, dancing like incomprehensible hooligans to the screeching,
grating “tunes,” emitting like radioactive material, I could only stare in disbelief. Their
soft, artificially sun-tanned skin stood in stark contrast to the coarse crumbly gravel that is Earth.
Their feet pounded restlessly. Their eyes scanned meaninglessly. Their minds were consumed.
Now, I could only look at them in a sort of pity. They were overtaken by machines, never to
experience true life. They were piglets on a bacon farm, unaware of what lay ahead.
(464 words)
