Descriptive Essay: Cranberry Pomegranate Juice
Thirsty I made my way towards the kitchen to pour myself a glass of Cranberry Pomegranate juice. Sitting around what’s left of the dining room table one of its hinges obliterated merely three table legs left as a support. A branch from the oak tree near the kitchen window kept tapping against the walls and windows as the wind blows. This branch at night when the murky moonlight blooms against the massive tree meticulously resemble an oversized man with a knife trying to break into the house. I often dreaded coming down the stairs for a cup of water or juice late at night when the lights were off. The terrified image and screeches sound on the window always send me scurrying right back to my room and ducking under the covers trembling for dear
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The thought of cutting the branch right off its hinge out of pure revenge for the times it’s pestered me pops in my head. “Revenge,” I bellowed out deciding to take action. My eagerness for revenge propels me to grab the chopper on the countertop near the table and surge through the kitchen door. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve attempted to bring down my arch-antagonist, the imp tree I call it. Each time I mustered up the courage to face the oversize tree the infestation of wild animals taken refuge in the backyard threatens to unleash their own attack. In my hasty attempt for revenge, I trip over a footstool near the back door catapult face first into a pile of angry bees nest near the huge tree trunk. The collusion tosses me backward the chopper flew out my hand marginally missing a squirrel and disappearing within the feral backyard. There was little time to get my bearings as a cluster of bees launch their attack each one determined to strike my face, neck, and arm. I retreated jumping to my feet while trying desperately to get the derange bees away from me. I dive back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind me, in time to notice the herd of bees’ forming in clusters on the glass door. Inside I access the damage noticing I was stung once in the neck and on my cheeks narrowly missing my
The thought of cutting the branch right off its hinge out of pure revenge for the times it’s pestered me pops in my head. “Revenge,” I bellowed out deciding to take action. My eagerness for revenge propels me to grab the chopper on the countertop near the table and surge through the kitchen door. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve attempted to bring down my arch-antagonist, the imp tree I call it. Each time I mustered up the courage to face the oversize tree the infestation of wild animals taken refuge in the backyard threatens to unleash their own attack. In my hasty attempt for revenge, I trip over a footstool near the back door catapult face first into a pile of angry bees nest near the huge tree trunk. The collusion tosses me backward the chopper flew out my hand marginally missing a squirrel and disappearing within the feral backyard. There was little time to get my bearings as a cluster of bees launch their attack each one determined to strike my face, neck, and arm. I retreated jumping to my feet while trying desperately to get the derange bees away from me. I dive back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind me, in time to notice the herd of bees’ forming in clusters on the glass door. Inside I access the damage noticing I was stung once in the neck and on my cheeks narrowly missing my