DAY 7, ESSAY #7

Describe a market place or a busy street that you know. [25]

The farmer’s market, located in the center of the city, was the perfect getaway from the towering skyscrapers, the honking of cars, and the crowding city centers. Entering the market, Laura was bombarded with the smells; the sharp cinnamon and cayenne poking her nose, the pungent meats causing her pinch her nose, the muddy odor from leafy vegetables and ripening fruits. She heard the clucking chickens and the callings of the vendors, the county band playing country music and the constant low chatter of the first-comers. The sun had just broken out, blessing the treetops, and so the market had begun. 

Stepping inside, the troubles of the city seemed to be washed away by the freeing wind. The booths were lined in a neat rows, which had looked like building blocks from the top of Laura’s apartment. She strolled around, taking her time to peek at each stall; this day was marked in her calendar four times a month, every Saturday. 

An old woman was selling varieties of honey. Her face was wrinkled, but experienced, from the years in the honey field. She gave a knowing nod to Laura as she poured the thick, gold liquid into a tasting sample, oozing out of the jars. Laura licked it and let the sweet, sticky substance envelop her into a feeling of total relaxation. 

Laura sifted through the fruits in a nearby stall, the ripe strawberries, cherries, oranges, and bananas, smiled back at her with their beautiful array of colors that were hard to gain in the dull city. She handled them carefully, and couldn’t wait to savour each one when she got home. A mother and her daughter had come to the stall. The daughter slept soundly on her mother’s shoulder as she softly completed all of her grocery shopping - the girl didn’t stir even once.

The pie vendor swiftly turned around as Laura called her name. Laura’s mouth began to water as she stared at the peach, pecan, blueberry, and cherry pies. The man smiled at her - his young face amid the general crowd was refreshing, as he had only recently joined the market. His apron was stained with colors of blue, brown, and pink, as though he had been painting.

The barks of dogs interrupted her stroll around the market. Each one seemed happy as it wagged its tail from side to side, their coats were shiny and soft. The crowd was thickening; joggers from their morning run began to come in like ants returning to their anthill. The sun rose overhead, shining fiercely into what had been another wonderful day.

DAY 6, ESSAY #6

You discover an old photograph album that has been hidden away for many years. Describe the album and what you find in it. [25]

Boxes were strewn here and there, waiting for old memories to be placed carefully into them. I sat down on the bare ground in the middle of the mess - books and clothes and collectables were scattered everywhere - the old teak furniture had been packed away. As I sifted through each item, I suddenly noticed an old, leather album. Sweeping the dust away carefully with a damp, dirty rag, it had dawned on me that this book had belonged to my grandmother, who had passed away. 

The thick hazel album had been carefully preserved over decades. I flipped open the cover, and stared at ancient black and white photograph of our house. The family stood in front of the house with smiles on our faces - my old, although adventurous grandma with her wiry hair, my grandfather with his stoic expression (with a hint of a smile), my mother standing confidently in front of them (holding me), and my father shyly to the side. It was as if I could still feel the warm, soft clothes of my mother. The page was still crisp and white, without any signs of weathering over time. 

Moving through the pages, I watched the story of my family unfold. Black and white slowly turned into clearer, crisper, brighter colors, but our story didn’t. The pages became crinkly and torn, creased and folded. My grandfather’s casket lay on a bed of white roses as we stood and stared solemnly at it. My father surrounded by and poring over newspaper listings, with his frayed and messy black hair. My mother lain strewn on a stained couch, seemingly dulled by the images on the screen. But soon, came more colorful decorations, and with them more delicate leafs of paper. Our birthdays were celebrated with great vigor - colors and decorations, friends and family. The birthday cake glowed like a light in dark times, and the sounds of everyone clapping and laughing, the taste of the butterscotch cake, smell of pizza came back to me.

Finally, I reached the last page, my grandmother’s final message. I looked at the way we laughed on the warm summer day, sitting on the country veranda, eating delicious orange popsicles on the fourth of July, while watching the fireworks work their magical colors. I almost turned around to point out the picture to her, but stopped half way. The light outside had faded away, and the house was in the same state as in the morning. Soon, it would be empty, leaving only the memories it created inside.

DAY 5, ESSAY #5

Describe a town or city centre in the early hours of the morning. [25]

The sun shone its way through and penetrated the heavy, cold darkness, transforming the black sky slowly into a baby blue, like watercolors washing away the wintery world with warmth. Only the toughest of the worker bees buzz around at the untimely hour, the rest sound asleep in the hive, lost in their dreams. Slowly, one by one, the dark windows of the towering, grey buildings turn white and bright, eager to begin a new day. 

It was as though someone had begun to sprinkle the city with a box of sugar overnight, but the lid had come off in the process. White and soft, the fragile substance belies its cruel nature, coating every niche and corner. The revving of its engine and the whoosh of the snow signal the monster plow’s victory as it mows its way through the barren streets, welcomed by those few who drove along in their multi-colored mechanisms. The tall, leaning streetlights awaited to be relieved from their heavy shift, breaking the ice-cold with their humming radiance.

A crowd formed. On the street corner, yawns hopped from men to women to children, their rosy-red cheeks protesting the motion, covering their chapped mouths with their numbed fingers. The frigid cold teased and bit at their noses, threatened to soak straight into their bones. Although the drink burnt, each sip fed the furnace inside; the strong smell of cacao beans accompanied a warm mist from hands of a few. Bright red changes to green, and away they rush. 

Stepping into routine, cafe owners turn their welcome signs, switch on the lights, start up their kitchens. Sticky and syrupy waffles, sizzling hot omelets, strong punching coffee waft onto the streets, beckoning passersby, awaiting the chattering and gossiping of the day. The sun hits the streets, and business begins. Like a river, the line moves along, a seemingly endless supply of workers rushing to start the day, from entry to order to exit. The taste of soothing chocolate chip muffins, the nutritiously delightful eggs and sandwiches; the sight of the Starry Night hanging on the pastel colored walls; the melody of the jazz music played are ignored by the rush - for work.

Mellow orange and pink ribbons of light decorate the sky as white, migrating birds fly in a “v” across the backdrop. The snow-coated city shimmers with the rising sun, which soothes it into action.

DAY 4, ESSAY #4

Describe a party in full swing, and then what the place is like when all the visitors have gone home. [25]

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!

DAY 3, ESSAY #3

Describe your feelings and reactions when you realize you have lost a very important item. [25]

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.

DAY 2, ESSAY #2

Describe a small group of people relaxing, and then the moment that destroys the atmosphere of calm. [25]

The sun took hold of the canvas that was the sky and painted away the starry, dark sky in soothing, soft strokes of mellow orange, pastel pink, and delicate baby blue, as they unwound, still as the rocks we sat on. The luscious evergreen trees around the vast lakes were like leaves surrounding the puddles of water after a heavy rainfall, from up here. Amy leaned forward, propping her face on her arms, chewing a chocolate-chip granola bar with some soft, warm banana bread as the cool breeze ruffled her windbreaker. Normally, she was as loquacious and distracted as a schoolgirl, but an unnatural calm had settled unto her, as though she had matured in a quick moment. She offered a thick slice to Max with a little nod, her ponytail bobbing up and down, like a buoy being moved by the rolling waves of the ocean.

Absentmindedly, Max munched on the cake, closing his eyes and leaning onto the smooth boulder behind him. His ribcage moved in and out with a steady rhythm, slow and relaxed, a far cry from his rapid, deep panting as we climbed, gasping for breath like an asthmatic dog. Patches of sweat, his skin clinging to his damp shirt, were retreating enemy armies, the cool mountain air fighting against them, bringing relief. Droplets rolled down the side of his face like a trickling waterfall. A small smile rested on his face, content. Sipping a bottle of water, Carly focused on her mini-book, the pages flapping noisily, yet soothingly, while she relished each word that reflected against her square black-framed glasses. Each word rolled off her tongue with ease, “Suddenly, they stumbled upon -”

Screeches burst out. A pack of hikers dashed behind us, their eyes wide, pupils dilated. A few incomprehensible words were thrown our way, before they flailed their arms like a chicken flapping its wings, scuttling away from a voracious fox. I shrugged, and took a whiff of my cool, fresh air..? Overwhelmed by a strong scent, I sniffed in more, like a canine looking for the culprit - was it the repulsive stench of the pools of sweat coming from the hikers? Or the rusted trash can nearby, filled to the brim with rotting garbage? I looked up. 

A  landslide. A wave of dirt, thick mud, moving mercilessly toward us, engulfed the sturdy pine trees, snapping them in half as though they were toothpicks. It seemed to ooze out of nowhere, filling every nook and cranny, slowly yet steadily. It rumbled the earth in anger, shaking the pebbles near our feet, making them hop up and down in distress. We hurled our bags over our shoulders and flew down the mountain, like leopards reduced to kittens, scampering away from a relentless storm.

DAY 1, ESSAY #1

This week will be a final review on descriptive writing. I'll post one descriptive essay per day. Hopefully it'll be a great help! Just to clarify, all of the prompts I use are past paper prompts, so I can guarantee that you'll see prompts similar to these on test day.

Describe a noisy group of people passing by, and your thoughts and feelings about them at
the time. [25]

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.

Tips for Descriptive Writing

I received my IGCSE results recently, and am pleased to announce that I received an A* in English Language (95%). Hopefully, this grade reflects my pedagogic skills.

Here's another descriptive writing essay. Soon, I'll just pile up all my descriptive essays into one post so that they can be easily referred to at any time.

Imagine you enter a crowded train or bus for a short journey. Describe your surroundings and your fellow travelers during the journey. [25]

A great billow of black smoke accompanies impatient yelling horns from the front of the seemingly endless line of faded blue box cars. I glanced at my leather watch with sudden realization and urged my legs to move at impossible rates as my tied luggage flew behind me. Glancing into the packed compartment, I scolded myself for the greed of a few extra dollars.

Faded paint was peeling off the sides of the wall, exposing the discolored steel body. The rigid seats, which could barely accommodate an infant, had bits and pieces of spongy “cushion,” whose yellow had amalgamated with a moldy green and dirt brown. A reeking odor seeped into my nose - was it the hot, heavy, incomprehensible smell of tens of human beings crowded together, packed like hen in a cage? Or the pungent stench from the grimy, stained restroom? Rushing past the green, rolling hills, and the petite rustic villages, seen from the slits of the rusting grills of the small, alas implausible, getaways, and hearing the ending slurp of my cool, sweet lemonade only made it worse.

My legs screamed for a break. I squeezed through, gauging each step through the array of backpacks and luggage as though it were lava. A mother’s eyes were heavy from the duty she was left with as her children slept on her shoulders. Her blouse was stained with apple sauce, bits of green grape peels. She pushed aside bunches of salt-and-pepper hair from her face that had strayed from the tight bun atop her head with her calloused hands. Gazing at his newspaper, an old man pulled down his ancient brown hat and pushed up his thick black glasses, futilely attempting to tune out the bickering young couple by his side. The woman narrowed her eyes furtively, her long, silky hair swaying as she moved her reddening face from side to side. The old man scooted away carefully, saving his Armani pants from the sticky, moldy gum and the bread crumbs, the shrieks of the woman, taking a sniff of the fresh air to escape.

The announcer’s call of my stop was a call from heaven. Pushing through the surge of people, the mountains of bags, my only regret was that I would have to come back this way again.
_____

In my opinion, descriptive writing has always been the easier one of the two options. It's quite easy to fill up the essay with flowery language. Picturing images in your head from your daily life and just talking about them is essentially what you have to do, which makes the whole process so easy. For narrative writing, I always had trouble finding an end to my story, or keeping it from going off on a tangent. 

That's why it's important to weigh your strengths and weaknesses when choosing between descriptive and narrative writing, and when you do choose one, just stick with it. For those who have a similar mindset like I do, I think these descriptive writing essays will be quite helpful to them.

Next time, I'll switch on to a different section of the papers, most in likely Paper 1, after posting the remainder of my essays. If you'd like even more descriptive essays, please email me at TheEnglishLanguageForIGCSE@gmail.com.