Essay about The Night - Original Writing

Essay about The Night - Original Writing

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It was cold, so cold my fingers stung under the three pairs of gloves I wore in preparation for the journey I made everyday. It began as always I wake up to the noise of my four sisters preparing for
school. The arguing was routinely, no matter the day or the occasion. My younger sisters, who seemed to enjoy it, would set identical alarms unknowingly. After which they race to the restroom in an attempt to be the first one dressed and ready. Being the only male in the above average four bedroom home I had the luxury of a basement room. The basement was cold and spacious, but it made for an impressive living area. On the end furthest right after walking down a flight of steps was my bathroom. A full bathroom with a blue tile floor. A smooth light blue that resembled the color of a robin’s egg. A porcelain toilet and bath both of which had a slight shine to their basic exterior. The room itself was dressed in a soft blue carpeting, much like the color of the bathroom tiles. Somewhat unaffected by the activities above my head i proceeded with my morning. I showered and brushed my teeth, then got dressed. It was winter, and winters in Illinois were frightfully cold. I had wore a pair of black jeans, with some sweatpants over them to fight the cold, along with a thermal long sleeved shirt, also a sweater and bubble coat and a pair of timberland boots. I fixed my wool cap on my head and pulled the hood over and went on my way out the door.

The ten minute walk I had made everyday for the past four months seemed like an eternity packed into a minute. Along the trip i always made one definite stop and that was stop was at my friend Omar’s house. Omar and I were the same age his birthday being three days after mine. He was...


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... without be lured by the populous and that was a good trait to have. He told me that while growing up there would be many occasions where having mine own voice would prove necessary to concreting who i was as a person. That although the crowd may attempt to sway you one way, following your own individual path would contain more rewards. After our talk he also gifted me with some candy and sent me on my way.

To this day I still remember the message Mr. Lungsford gave me and continue to follow my path as i feel obligated. I have been detoured, and walked away from groups of people that fall into the same category as my former classmates. They were sheep no individuality and all conforming to the same activities and propaganda, without questioning. Where they could have been the shepherds instead persuading and leading, they choose to be persuaded and following.

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