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Creative writing essay about fear
Creative writing essay about fear
Creative writing essay about fear
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Falling fifteen thousand feet out of the sky sounded exhilarating twenty-four hours ago. Now, peering outside of the airplane door with only a tarp to prevent my apparent inevitable doom, I must stop to ask myself, what the hell was I thinking? Fear is coursing through my body, my mind pounds with anticipation and terror. Seeking escape, my thoughts drift to another time: My thighs are screaming, pleading me to stop. My bag is weighing me down. My back is slick with sweat; my hair feels heavy with perspiration. Thoughts of failure and doubt scream across my mind. “I have gone far enough.” “The view will not be worth it.” “Why did I think I could do this anyways?” Scuffed hiking boots traipse over countless roots. Inadvertently looking up for a moment, the sea of lively green leaves shading the forest catches my eye. Sunlight peeks through the sparse …show more content…
My mind clears alongside the foliage as I ascend to the top of the mountain. I can see wisps of clouds forming from the sapphire blue lake in the valley, rolling miles into the sky. Deep purple lupin sprinkled with dots of stark white line the path before me, their petals lying previously untouched on the dull dirt. The dichotomy of the petals lying on the apathetic soil enhances the picturesque beauty. Inhaling, I notice how my lungs fill with pristine air. The gentle wind curls around my face, tenderly brushing my hair against my cheeks. My heartbeat is reverberating through my body, pulsating within my fingertips. The natural fragrance drifting from the unrestricted growth of life envelops me. The sunlight tenderly kisses my exposed arms and warmth cascades along my skin. Untouched by mankind’s talons, rolling green mountains crowned with jagged, treacherous peaks stretch on forever. This simplistic beauty of this world rushes into my soul, reminding me life is about experiencing. “You’re up next,” the skydiving instructor looked at me and smiled, pulling me away from my
There is a serene moment when reading John Muir “A Windstorm in the forests,” that rushed through me. Which can only be described as a rush of emotions that one might face when returning home after traveling for so long. I feel that this response is so far harder to write than I could have imagined it to be because the forest Muir is describing within his story, within the Sierra Nevada is one that I grew up with. The same ones that I spent my summers and winter breaks at, I feel a slight struggle when trying to describe my response because I didn’t realize how much I miss all of that and how many of my memories are surrounded by that forest. Reading Muir story brought back the images of seeing stretches of land covered in an endless amount
My life so far has been like a good hiking path. A path that is winding and twisting and encompassed with plenty of beauty. A path that is lined with trees like angels protecting you from the mysteries in the deep forest and that keep you rooted on the path you are destine to take. One that is filled with deep troughs and the most beautiful peaks you could ever image. Sometimes the path is rocky and hurts the soles of your feet until they crack and bleed, but other times it’s covered with a soft green moss that lifts your steps and revives your spirits. Through the last 17 years of my life, I have traveled that path and endured every step. I have gone into the dark abyss of the trough and have found in it the most precious grace of light. As I have gotten older I have come to recognize that the scary and shaky steps of my path have indeed been “fearsome blessings” (Buechner, 92).
Dillard’s use of images, words and figurative and lyrical language in her description of mountain together create a sense of motion and vitality, as if the landscape she depicts is actively alive, shaping and forming itself before her. The vitality of this particular landscape, as observed during her moment of transcendence, perhaps suggests that such life may only be observed but at rare and ...
Dani and I stand in the sun waiting for the “men” to catch up. The view was worth Quill’s whining and navigating through the snow. The breeze catches in the bright green and gold of new Aspen leaves whispering around the lake. The Pine trees scent the air and bask in the sun to steal its warmth from the forest below. The trees are a dark canopy along our path permitting only a few patches of the raised finely mulched trail to a beam or two of sun. Framed like a photo three pencil lead gray peaks rise above a lower sweeping curve of pines. They look close enough to walk over the ridge and touch them. Boulders precariously cling to the side of the mountains. The perfect deep blue early summer sky is the perfect backdrop.
That afternoon, my mother and I were tending to the rice field along with other women and children from our village. The sun was beaming so brightly that it permeated through the interstices of my straw hat. “Kim Phuc, don’t stay out in the sun for too long,” my mother yelled from across the field, “your skin will get too dark and aged!” I wondered why she cared so much about my tan when the greater concern, clearly, was the war in our homeland. Although, her remark forced me to revise how poorly I was dressed for the weather. After examining my grey, cotton shorts and flowered tank top, I decided to go back to our hut and find a change of clothes. “Mom, I’m going back to the hut,” I yelled, “but I’ll be back!” Then I hurried out of the rice
Today is the day before we go over the top. I’m dreading it, dying or
I prepared myself for the upcoming adventurous day. I set out along a less-traveled path through the woods leading to the shore. I could hear every rustle of the newly fallen leaves covering the ground. The brown ground signaled the changing of seasons and nature's way of preparing for the long winter ahead. Soon these leaves would be covered with a thick layer of snow. The leaves still clinging to the trees above displayed a brilliant array of color, simultaneously showing the differences of each and the beauty of the entire forest.
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
Boom. Breath. Boom. Breath. Each step sounded like a war drum banging in my ears. The harmonious rhythm of my steps consistent with my breath continued on and on as I made my way up the side of the cliff in the middle of these Colorado woods. The sweltering heat was hindering my vision, and I began to feel dizzy. The worst part is, I am all alone.
As I gazed out of the small side window of the Bell UH-1 Huey helicopter I was in, I saw complete annihilation. Under us, planes razed a small jungle with their heavy artillery, and the Viet Cong scattered like cockroaches into their hand-dug tunnels. The year was 1960, and my family and I were trying to escape the war and seek refuge in America. The war started 5 years ago, and it was steadily moving to my hometown and Vietnam’s capital, Saigon. My father was in the military, so he got access to a helicopter to take us away before it was too late. Those less fortunate than us had to stay behind and hope for the best. My smaller sister, Lang, squirmed in my arms, a sign that she was hungry. I took a sweet potato out of a large straw bag and
I am surrounded by the splendor of the nature. On a moderately sunny morning, birds are peeping while sitting on the gigantic mature tree in the park. The stream of water rising from the fountain is crafting a magical melody. The mesmerizing winds have imprisoned everyone’s attention. The bright colorful flowers are depicting the charms of their juvenile. Different pleasant sounds in the environment are contributing to the concerto of nature. Leaves rustling in the cool breeze are an amazing part of the environment. A young couple sitting on the bench beside the fountain is relishing the pleasant sight.
“Hey brad, when do you think this whole taking over the country thing will be done, you know so we can live normal lives?” asked Johnny.
As we walked to our car, we realized just how much the day had taken out of us physically. We were both bruised and sore from our practice jumps into the gravel pit and very tired. But, at the same time, our souls felt warm and satisfied at discovering that we could overcome our fears and experience the joy and freedom of skydiving.
The familiarity of the woods, the natural urges my body has to be outside and be active in the setting that most people in today’s society only truly see in movies, if that, reminds me of other ventures into the woods, the citrusy smell of pine mixed with the smells of wild grasses and various flowers create an unmatched bombardment of scents. These scents stimulate the mind in a calming way unlike any medication or music ever could. The aroma of the forest sends chills down my spine, causing you to get the urge to explore and to absorb yourself in to the natural wonders the human body
Rolling hills lay before me that undulate until they crash into golden purple mountains. Oh how they are covered in spectacular fauna, ever blooming foliage, and trees that are heavy with pungent fruit. Green. It is always so green here at my house. Here is where the air lays heavy and cool on my skin, as does the striking rays of the sun upon my cheeks.