Please read my discriptive essay, and make any changes!
My face is burning from the particles of the gravel penetrating through my skin. As I squirm through my thin cardboard box trying to find my body, I can only hear the churning of my stomach. I try to open my eyes, but I feel as if a vacuum machine is sucking all my guts out of my body. I stretch my hand out towards my pocket hoping I can find a few breadcrumbs, but I feel something biting me. My hands are shivering as I try to take this creature off me. I bring the rat towards my body as I feel its is wet body trembling with his hopeless eyes. I gently rub my eyes with a stained, smelly cloth that my father gave to me before he died and decide to let the rat go.
“Dear Lord please help me find food, be safe, and have a good day. Hover me with your blessings, and help Billy, my new friend. Amen.”
I fold my cardboard box and all my belongings. Strolling in the streets trying to find a place where I can clean myself up for school. My body feels weak and my eyes feels heavy and droopy. After a few hours, I finally find a beautiful café. I quietly sneak in the back towards the bathroom. I find some mud on the floor, mix it with water to make toothpaste, and use my fingers to brush my teeth. I scrub my body with my handkerchief, washed my hair in the sink, and braided just as if my father did when I was little with his rough prickly hands. I smiled in the mirror, but all I can see is a sad face look at me with a million wrinkles. I walk out the bathroom trying to keep my shoulders back and smirk on my face, trying to look strong, like nothing was wrong. Trying to hide my emotions from society. The owner of the store walked towards me. My heart began to pound faster and faster. The fear of hearing those words out of his mouth,
“Get out you scoundrel”. However, the man glared at me with his big shiny brown eyes and said,” I know you need a job, ten dollars per hour, and comfortable work hours.” I said, “Thank you sir, and thank you.” the funny thing was that he looked so similar to my dad, but the age he would be now. I skipped my way to school, the luckiest day my life. “God answered my prayers,” Sarah muttered to herself.
The one place I felt safe and happy was school everybody loves me and supports me. No one knows my true background, it’s wonderful. They accept me for who I am not for where I live or what I wear. My best friend Bella and I go back to kindergarten; she knows how many hairs are on my head, and even when one falls out. She has always been there for me. Sometimes when I have nowhere sleep, her mom lets me sleepover. In return, I tutor her in math or any subject she needs help. School is my weapon .my father always told me, “If I work hard, I can everything I want.”
One day I was running home, it was raining heavily. I was wearing a thin shirt with navy sweats. I can hear drug dealers and hustlers on the streets as they approached women for prostitution. A man with a harsh voice approached my mother; I can feel his shadow scratching against her body. In his disgracing voice he said “Hey sweetie, come on just a hundred dollars. You know its easy money. Don’t you need food to support your daughter? Huh? My mother took off her clothes; the man went on top of her. I could hear harsh noises getting louder and louder. He continuously touched her inappropriate areas. I could not tolerate it anymore and tried to find a warm corner. I folded my body in a fetal position trying to feel my own warmth. My eyelids felt weary and feel asleep.
The next day when I went to work Mr. Bernard asked me to come into his office he said, “what’s you mother name “
I said," Felicia Jones” his eyes pupils rapidly dilated into the size of watermelon, and filled with water. He said,
“That’s a picture of me you have in your bag.” I told the man my father died when I was four. As he looked into my eyes, he took out a baby picture of me when I was three years old out of his wallet.
He said, “That’s what your mom told you.” As tears ran down my eyes, I jumped into his big arms and hugged him as tight as I could.
He said, “I love you”
I loosen my arms, took a step back, and asked him,
“Why did you abandon me, leave me in this cold world alone?” With his shaky voice he responded,
“Your mother took you away, I have tried many years, but she changed you last name and identity.” I closed my eyes just trying to feel his warm body against mine. He kissed me only forehead and began humming the song he would sing to me before he tucked me in my bed.
This is terrible. Have you proofed it? It is full of grammatical errors, and if one could ignore them, the flow of this piece is a juggernaut: it goes from one thought to another, and one wonders if it is going anywhere at all.
Have you read it?
Perhaps the title of the piece (lit(essay)) threw me off. Why do you think this is an essay? To me, an essay is an analysis or interpretive literary composition. That is hardly what I read.
Now, the positive. You have a very weak beginning to a novellette, but you need developed characters, some plot, a conflict, and a setting that makes sense. But it needs a lot of development. And proofing.
Don't give up, but if this is intended to be an essay, I don't see the final product near.
Bobpursley is right. This is not an essay, BUT it's not a bad rough draft for a story idea. Short story? Novella?
Flesh out the characters and the setting. Work on correcting the punctuation and taking care of typos, spelling, etc.
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http://www.writeradvice.com/
Also --
You have more narrative than descriptive going on here. Read some of these:
http://www.google.com/search?q=descriptive+essay&rls=com.microsoft:en-us:IE-SearchBox&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&sourceid=ie7&rlz=1I7SUNA