Descriptive Essay Essay

There are few heartbeats in a persons lifespan in which they support take a step back from their conscious minds and realize a change in direction or change of purpose in spite of appearance their paths. Most of life seems like a continuous flow of a journey, an ever rush ride that starts and finishes as the suns journey through our mean solar day get by. We are, when you get d receive to the core of it, simply a combination of our departed experiences and memories. But some of us, few and far surrounded by, shoot experienced a brief moment in history in which we felt the tides of our own oceans turning. The moment is brief. The moment is sometimes sm each(prenominal). Yet the moment is forever fleeting. homogeneous a cool breeze that suddenly crosses over the hot littoral zone of our minds, we suddenly are swept up from something that fin solelyy brings a untested sense of understanding into our lives ultimately changing us forever. This moment came for me when I was p referably quite young. In fact, I was in the middle of my trine year of elementary school. Before we go any further charge this recollection trip of ours, I will have you know a little ab have sex to the fore my past.In my younger days, I had been branded as what you may refer to as a liar, but the naturalism wasnt found in the sense of that word. Instead of lying in modems of deceit, I simply and honestly be trickeryved with all my being that if something was conceived within my thoughts and plopped out of my mouth that it was systematically true. It probably sounds absurd, simply believing in something and taking it as true when there was no evidence behind its humor different than my frivolous thoughts. But thats how it was, or so I thought, in my universe of being. In fact, I vividly remember sound outtale(a) my brother one day that I was actually non his sister, rather a lost princess in need of finding her way home. Where from the domain did that idea originate fro m? Well, since I cant eventide tell you, God would be the only one to know.With the daisy chain I thr use upening at making for hours around persisting atop my curly locks and birds singing all which way I turned, I was a princess. Nothing that reality presented to me was truer than that. And so time went on. I was a royal princess. I did not eat the last cookie. I had magical powers. Just no one else knew intimately it yet. Imagination was the all-powerful and ruling force of my world the seams of reality and conceive of forever muddled and intertwined. It was like I had not really been born(p) yet, like I was not actually alive, rather just stuck in purgatory of pre-life and had not yet taken the steps into the real universe yet. And indeed camethird grade.It was Mrs. channels part she was a rather persnickety as she liked to call it lady who absolutely wouldnt allow anyone get away with anything. She was nice though, I could tell she had a perfervid heart and I li ked her better than my last teacher. All the other kids had done and finished their detailed map of the California state, all coloured and bright from crayons wax. But then there was me absoluteionist who would draw four pencil etchings and then erase five. Mrs. Alley announced that e realone that was done could go outback(a) and begin a game of kick ball, which was the absolutely lift out part of any school day. I was put in betwixt a rock and a hard place.As e preciseone else started fileling out of the room, a silence began to pervade the place. in the peculiarity I was alone, sitting in a desk with a half lightly drawn potion of California on my paper. Eventually I just put my pencil mass and started to look around the carve up room. Its truly amazing how the absence of sound and souls can change a place. As the clock ticked onwards, my mind came to recollect the dead printed version of the California map that was resting in the pages of my history section of my binder . iodin envisioned, there was no turning back.I ran to the other side of the class room and tore my binder from the top shelf, turned the history halt and found my booty. It didnt take long, the copying of the whole thing and the end product was rather magnificent if I have the right to involve so myself. By the time I was finished though I could hear little third grader feet beginning to scuff on the exterior stairs. With the zip of a zipper and a scurry across the room, all proof of the occurrence had been erased or so it appeared. When everyone had come back in, Mrs. Alley announced that there would be a contest for whoevers map looked the nicest. As she walked around she gave nods and smiles to the other children, but when she came to peer over my shoulder she stopped. With perfect lines and strait edges my map probably seemed like a masterpiece of forefront Goghs proportions compared to everyone elses. It all happened rather quickly. The asking, the removing of the binder f rom the book shelf, the dimension of the map up to the window against the original, but all throughout this transition a thought formed from within my head and there was no point of return I had not traced it. I had done it all by myself with my own hands.For all I could have known in that moment I could have been outside the whole time with the rest of my class, but the history of the past hour was completely erased from my mind. It seems odd really, even for me to talk about the thought that I gave myself subject to and belief in, as if almost I am only recalling memories from another world or a half remembered dream. All I can remember from that moment is that from the whole moment is my whole body and being screaming No from every angle, every corner of the depths of my being. But she did not give in, she did not even falter. Eventually we sat alone in her room, fists clenched, face red, and eye wet and still neither giving in. And then she turned to me and state Ok Courtney wi th the most unsatisfactory unbelieving persona that I have ever have witnessed in my life. As the car wised by the ache and cedar trees I could still feel the heat of anger come off my face.Why didnt she believe me? My mom crying from the drivers seat tried to lecture and yell sense into me. She was a good mom, is and always will be. Neither she nor my father had ever taught me to lie or let me get away with it. The sting of getting spanked had practically been upon my bum in my younger years. But I honestly didnt know what I was doing wrong. The lies I was accused of making were simply give truths in my mind. And then it hit me. Like a hail storm sent from the Greek gods that fell and tore away the bond between me and my fuzzy pink fog of fantasy, the memory. The remembrance of what had really occurred in the class room a couple hours ago. My world wasnt real, or at least the one I had been creating wasnt in the least. The bands of the horizon in my life slowly started to unra vel and integrate in front of my very eyes.All of a sudden, from the very depths of somewhere in my being, a very distant kind of concrete place that resides behind my head, I hear a voice. Sweet and low, comforting yet powerful I hear a voice that was not of my own in my head. And it seemed to bend down and pull me close as a parent does to their kids after a thunder storm has just passed as it whispered somewhere within me, BE ALIVE. I started to cry, in fact rather mentally break down. And through my tear I finally gained sight of the light of day that penetrated and wished all the fuzzy thick fog of my fantasyworld away.