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Example of Descriptive Analysis - Our Second Home

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Austin Jalbert

Paul Grabianowski

Writing 101

20 September 2016

Our Second Home

        A town with heavy dense forests and unruly unkempt roads, Danville New Hampshire is a place where dreams stay dreams and your ambitions die just as a slight breeze can knock out the towns power. This was home to me. Sketchy roads would lead you to dead ends and have you questioning how deep in the forest you really were. The people, both quiet and somewhat aggressive would scare newcomers out of the town before they even had the chance to drive to their destination. However, the rustic character of the houses with their withering paint and outdated style gave the town a colonial like character. A lot of the time it was hard to tell whether or not the houses have been abandoned for years due to the lack of restoration and the deteriorating exteriors or if a family still resided within the walls. Luckily for some of the youth of the town, there would be times where an abandoned manor would become a hangout spot.

        Main street was similar to any kind of street one would come across in a rural town such as Danville. Atop the hill of main street laid this abandoned gem shrouded with overgrowth and boarded windows. Anyone who came across this house would have an overwhelming feeling of dread for the house actually looked haunted. Some even said that the house was haunted. Its white peeling shingles and the destruction each window and door has taken gave the impression that this was not a place where anyone should trespass. My friends and I looked passed all those things though, for this was a place where memories were made for us. The house was one of the secret gems of Danville and it was a place of exploration and lost memories.

        On the last trip made to this secret spot, I remember the rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins as my friend Brandi shouted at me to enter through the back. I stood in front of the house, just gleaming at its beauty. The house was walled in by lush forests on all sides except for the front. If cops came to the house, there would be no escape. The forests of Danville would consume a person in its tangle of thick vines and deep spontaneous creeks. The trees, raised so high above the skyline, had the forest in a constant darkness. If the forest didn’t consume you, it sure would have you lost looking for a way out. The grass was overgrown and ticklish on my legs. Walking through it was only a buildup to the real overgrowth and untidiness that was inside. Brandi was accompanied by my best friend Andy. We were a trio, and coming here made us stronger as a friend group. Being with Andy and Brandi was like being with your favorite siblings who get you into trouble. Our eagerness for adventure rubbed off on each other which resulted in us getting ourselves into mayhem. We hadn’t seen each other for a while but “ I could tell it was going to be pretty much the same as it had been before” (White, 4).

        With every creek of the back stairs, my adrenaline started to turn into excitement. Entering the back door into the kitchen, I was greeted with the smell of mold like a punch to the face. We all stood in the kitchen which was attached to the living room. The walls peeled at every corner and the floor would dip in at random spots resulting in plummeting to the basement. Our footsteps were strategic. We walked around as if we were in the middle of an armed robbery. Every step counted or else your cover would be blown. The house had some special quality left behind however. Certain pictures and the antiques on the mantle of the fireplace in the living room gave the house a very traditional feel. All the antiques and old leather couches that lined the perimeter of the room were the only things left, yet they told us so much about the house. Brandi always questioned the things we saw there. Just like me, I wanted to understand the deeper meaning of what these items of character were around us and why they were set up as they were. The house had this presence of the other family, as if they had not left. Every room told a different story.

        We stand around the detiorating room. Every time we go here it is like the first time. It gets dirtier and more rustic every time we go. Our favorite room was the picture room where I couldn’t even step on the ground without stepping on a picture. The pictures sprawled out in the room gave us all insight of the past. It was like we saw the family’s entire life all on the ground. The mold on the floor and the dust on the pictures told another story of how those memories have passed on. This made me think a lot. A family that had so much to offer, a place where they all came to make memories, now just left their once home a memory. I would never want memories like that to just vanish into thin air never to be remembered by any one on this Earth. I started to overthink and my mind became so wrapped around the thought of what if that happens to the great group of people here. The ones who I’ve spent countless memories with.

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