Descriptive Essay : ' I Haven 't Shot A Gun '
"I’d feel mighty comfortable if you did now...” Tate replied snarky with a harsh hiss.
As I took hold of the gun the overwhelming feelings flooded over me, I heard the whispers of the trees echo through my head. Reminiscing the last time I aimed a fire arm, the last time I was caught.
I took a step closer to the gravel and dirt road, my heart slowed as my breath caught in my throat I glanced around, the trees danced on the gravel, with a whistle. The heat waves radiated the yellow light from the afternoon sun as it set over yonder. Taking in a breath that filled my lungs, I took another step forward releasing the inhale letting the nerves fade out slowly. My palms started to sweat and my grip on the fire arm loosened so much I nearly dropped it. I swallowed the lump in my throat and regained my grip and inhaled again.
“Good ol’ One Shot! Straight shot” yelled Boo from halfway through the clearing in the woods.
Chuckling I reloaded the gun ready to shoot again when the painful sound of sirens buzzed through my ears, shaking my head.
I looked over to where Boo had been standing collecting my shootings, he wasn’t there anymore I glanced frantically around and I saw his rear end hiding behind a large grey rock. It was then a hand as heavy as steel was placed onto my lanky shoulders causing my breath to…