Animal Farm Research Paper

Beep, beep, beep, beep. Instinctively, my arm reaches across the nightstand to press snooze on my alarm clock. My mind and body nearly begins to return to slumber before I remember the reason I needed to wake. I hastily climb out of bed and dress myself in my green and brown camo shirt and overalls. The excitement begins to flow through my veins as I prepare for a trip to my grandpa’s farm. Papa Tom’s farm happened to be the perfect place to build and set up our hunting hut. My hunting hut provides me with a place of peaceful solitary away from the troubles of the modern world. After arriving at my grandfather's farm, I gather my necessities which include my camo backpack which contains a blanket, a few bottles of Ice Mountain water, a couple …show more content…
All around me, the forest seems silent and tranquil with the occasional rustle of leaves from a gust of wind. The crunch of leaves under my ankle high rubber boots creates a cacophony, alerting most animals of my presence (hyperbole). Ahead, I hear the trickle of one of the many creeks that snake through my grandfather’s property. As I approach, my boots begin to create a schloop sound in the thick, damp mud. The creek bottom is lined with rocks and pebbles ranging from the size of a fingernail to a basketball. Most of the rocks lie under three inches deep of crystal clear water. I observe a school of minnows carelessly drifting with the current of the stream. To my right, I spot a string of a few sizable rocks. Stepping from rock to rock, I cross the creek with a couple lengthy …show more content…
Approaching the second set of trees, I flick off my flashlight as the sky is barely bright enough for visibility. Just up the dirt path, I recognize the product of sixth months of rugged work. The hunting hut looks like a tall shipping crate with sheets of black, tar paper stapled to the outside (simile). Three of the sides have small horizontal windows with short camo drapes. The fourth acts as an entrance. I tug the old rusted latch of the bulky, driftwood door. Inside the hunting hut, I examine the two lawn chairs snuggly squeezed into the confined space. Most people would find it cramped and uninviting. To me, it is as spacious as a grand amphitheater with enough space for my thoughts to wander in any direction (simile). I wave my arm through the air to clear some of the cobwebs. I plop down into the nearest lawn chair and place my gun leaning into the corner on my right. I unzip the largest compartment of my camo pack and deposit the contents into the other lawn chair. I snag the nearest plastic bottle of water and unscrew the cap. The taste and feel of cool water soothe the inside of my gullet. I place the half empty bottle of water in the cup holder and grasp one of the protein bars from the pile in the other chair. As I tear the corner of a cookies and cream package of a Gatorade protein bar, my stomach grumbles as if it approves my offering of food (personification). The taste of cookie