Descriptive Essay - Original Writing
Sometimes I don’t know who I am, where I am, or what I’m doing. I feel imprisoned, sometimes, in a state of eternal dreaming. Although my dreams aren’t happy or fun or kind. They’re just dreams. They’re not real and I’ve known this for a long time.
I see waves of sunlight pour through the bathroom window, catching fire to thousands of specks of dust.
Dust. Inconsequential to the highest degree.
I start to wonder what it would be like to be dust. Abandoned and lonely. Drifting through the world without meaning. But it’s hard to wonder – to imagine – when it’s the truth. After all, I’m made from matter that doesn’t matter: I’m dust.
I sigh and look past the window. More distractions. Outside lay a gravelled driveway, circling a fountain and stretching down towards a black gate. At either side of the driveway there are beautiful gardens, home to beautiful nature.
The need for dreaming seeps through my mind again. An aching cavity.
I close my eyes, fragile, and think of a time when I would play in the gardens with my beautiful sister.
I’ll never wake up.
“...Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four,” I opened my eyes, “Twenty-five! Ready or not, here I come!”
I would usually find my sister in a couple of minutes. A brief list of her hiding places were: in a bush, behind a hedge, or just lying in the grass where she would claim, “If I can’t see you then you can’t see me!”
“I’m coming to find you!” I taunted, soon realising it wasn’t a good idea to give away my…