VICTOR VAL MAS Y11In this piece of descriptive writing I try to show two sides of the fourth of July. One side is cheerful, joyfuland very hot. Then I switch gears and try to depict the feeling of shock I experienced while seeing my
neighbor getting shot. I based this on the “beltway sniper” incident.
This was a terrifying time Iexperienced when, in 2002, a man killed 10 people including my neighbor James Buchanan. He waskilled whilst mowing his grass in Rockville, Maryland.
ROZEN ON THE FOURTH OF
Any ordinary year, the Fourth of July would be one of those days that no one would miss. One would doeverything imaginable to be in town for this special occasion. If this meant giving up a week at the beachthere would be no hesitation. Everyone had to be there; it was a red-letter day! This year, however,things would be different.I woke up to the gentle churning of the air conditioner. Still relaxed from a good night
sleep, myeyelashes were covered by a gritty, dusty substance that clung to my eyelids like dried up glue left on adesk. I rubbed my eyes, moving my fingers in circles, trying to wiggle them awake. Standing up, I felt myblood rush to my feet. My head suddenly became weightless and my sight distorted. I decided to lieback down still attached to the comfort of my blanket. The blanket was warm from the previous night
sleep, and the pillow seemed to have memorized the shape of my head. I then tried to get up. This time,my blood seemed to stay in place and my vision cleared. Looking outside I decide to open the window.The knob slowly turned with a squeak, engraving a white mark on my fingers from the pressure I hadapplied. Then, instantly, a blast of hot air hit me. The feeling I experienced was very strange. On one sidemy body was cold; this must have been because of the air conditioning vent on the floor behind me. Thefront of my torso however, was burning and almost scorching. I felt my skin start to sweat and my veinsstart to swell. I could feel the blood traveling around my body, pulsing like the ticks on my watch. It wasas if I were split in two; as if I were two separate people, with two different sensations. This same feelingI would soon experience again. Only then it would be much worse.The day had gone smoothly and I reflected on the hours that had just passed. The parade waswonderful; all one could see was a mass of red, white and blue. In the front, a glamorous fire truck thatone could tell was being driven with pride lead the way. On it were ribbons and flags. These, heldsecurely by the small hands of smiling preschoolers, glittered in the air. This was no ordinary occasionfor the satisfied preschoolers. They had left their play dough and had chosen to ride on the fire engine.Their smiles were wide and their eyes full of delight. Not a single cry could be heard. All that could beheard was loud chatter and the sirens of the engine leading the way. Behind it, a mass of people were jubilantly following the truck, like ducklings trailing their mother.As I was perspiring profusely in the sizzling July sun, I decided to take a shower, ice-cold. My skincontracted after a whole day exposed to the sun. The cold water dripped down my body, washing awayall the sweat and tattoos I had stamped all over my back. The paint was hard to get off. I had to rub withthe sponge, squeezing and pressing as hard as I could. Slowly, the stripe of the flag began to fade andchunks of star started peeling and wrinkling on my skin.