For a school assignment we have to write a descriptive writing piece, I have finished this but I would love it if you all could help me improve it, thanks.
Descriptive Writing Piece - The most beautiful place in the world - an ocean
The horizon stretches across my entire field of view in the most spectacular fashion. A massive expanse of crystal clear water is all I can see ahead of me with a miniature sail boat proudly sailing along with its small white sails catching the little sea breeze. This same breeze caresses my skin, keeping it pleasantly warm in spite of the slowing fading sun, making me feel like it is hugging me warmly. The beautiful colour which seems to be a mix of orange and pink fills the dark blue sky and colours the puffy white clouds. The calm ocean reflects this most amazing colour in the way which only it can. The waves gently lull on the sandy shore, slowly breaking then receding, always gracefully touching my toes. The smell which these waves conjure is not fishy and disgusting as it sometimes is but rather soft and a little salty which just so luscious. The sea gulls circle in the air, occasionally landing near me. One sea gull dives from the air only to lift itself up again as it nears the water, making a small V in the water behind it. I find myself thinking that perhaps this is the most beautiful place in the entire cosmos.
Now, as the sun is setting, the sky is becoming a pleasant purple colour and the first few stars start to become visible, in a way which seems as though they are peeking around a corner, appearing slowly at first then slowly becoming brighter, a beacon of hope and happiness. The sea gulls are starting to fly towards the last rays of the sun, off into the ocean. The waves are progressively creeping up onto the shore now and they reach out to graze my shins. The warmth from the air is starting to be replaced by a chill. I put on my spare coat I brought in an attempt to fight off the cold; thankfully the coat has fur on the inside which helps keep my warm.
As time passes, the sky progressively becomes a black, seeming to look like a void. The sea gulls are all but gone and now their cries are barely just a whisper. The wind is picking up strength and the deathly chill it brings seems to replace my spine with a large chunk of ice, freezing my entire body, my fur coat has given up in the fight having been outmatched by the ferocity of the wind. The waves are much larger now and they are now desperately reaching for waist. The water feels colder than liquid nitrogen and wherever it makes contact with me its cold fingers seem to leech the very life from my soul and replace it with numbness and terror. The wind blows harder, edging the furious waves on, making them even larger. I stumble back in sheer horror. The waves seem to be yelling at me, telling me that resistance is futile. I freeze on the spot as an amazingly large wave charges towards me. I stumble due to another wave just as the large one breaks right over my head making my vision go black. The ocean refuses my desperate attempts to stand up and I continue to go flying around where ever and whenever the angry ocean pleases. I look up into the void that is the sky and I see the stunning bright stars which are now cruelly taunting me instead of offering me the feeling of hope. I surrender myself to the dark abyss and the last of my oxygen leaves my body in the form of two small bubbles. I slowly descend into the chasm which is the ocean and my last thought is "perhaps this isn't the most beautiful place in the cosmos after all".
Written by Matthew Hill year 9 Leap English
Word count = 655
"A massive expanse of crystal clear water is all I can see ahead of me with a miniature sail boat proudly sailing along with its small white sails catching the little sea breeze. "
This is a little awkward. I'm not sure if you're on the boat, or watching it pass by
Try- A miniature sail boat proudly glides along the glass-like water. It's white sails perk as it catches the slightest bit of a breeze.
"The smell which these waves conjure is not fishy and disgusting as it sometimes is but rather soft and a little salty which just so luscious."
Good use of imagery, but again it's a bit awkward.
Maybe- The smell of these waves isn't pungent or fishy, but instead gives off a luscious, soft, salty scent.
"The warmth from the air is starting to be replaced by a chill. I put on my spare coat I brought in an attempt to fight off the cold; thankfully the coat has fur on the inside which helps keep my warm."
That comment about the fuzzy inside of your coat is kinda off. It's unneeded information.
"reaching for waist"
Reaching for "my" waist.
Other than that, I thought this was a brilliant descriptive essay. I can feel the warm breeze you described, and imagine the vastness of the ocean. It wasn't just pleasant to read, but also exciting. I went through a nice, calm stage while reading the first paragraph. I then shifted to a much darker place. The way you made the transition and change in tone really made the essay stand out from a simple essay about a pretty place to a compelling, exciting story.
I’ve always loved scuba diving and the cell-tickling feel of being underwater, though it poses unique frustrations. Alone, but with others, you may share the same sights and feelings, but you can’t communicate well.
There are few ways to convey joy, amazement or thrill. How many divers know American Sign Language? The vocabulary of scuba talk is small and inadequate, circling around the transactional analyst’s bywords, I’m O.K. Are you O.K.? One can also signal: I’m in trouble, I’m low on air, I’m going to surface, Look at that, I’m cold, Danger over there, My ears haven’t pressurized, Stay where you are — but little more.
“Isn’t that fish on the rock face spending his whole life guarding a minute territory mind-blowing?” is just as unsayable as “I’ve got to go to the toilet.” Or “My throat feels parched from the wheeze of the regulator.” Or “Those brown angelfish are hanging like flak in the water.”
I think some people may dive, in part, for the thick layers of quiet and the luxury of not having to converse.
Once, offshore in Jamaica, I swam through a variety of vividly colored fish, including some I’d never seen before, and was so spellbound that one hand automatically touched my chest and my eyes teared. My guide’s eyes questioned me through the fishbowl of his face mask. There was no way to signal that I wasn’t hurt or frightened, but jubilant, merely glad to the brink of tears. How do you scuba-sign wonder?
Are you in trouble? he signaled.
No, no, I answered emphatically. I’m O.K. I put an open palm over my heart, then made a stirring motion in the water. My heart is stirred, and my eyes … I made a rain-falling movement beside one eye with my fingers.
Surface? he motioned, his knitted brow adding a question mark.
No! I signaled stiffly. I’m O.K. Wait. Wait. I thought for a moment, then made the sign French chefs use in commercials, the gestural Esperanto for “This dish is perfection,” making a purse of my fingers and exploding open the purse just after it touched my mouth. Then I swept a hand wide.
Even with the regulator stuffed in his mouth and his eyes distorted behind the face plate, he made an exaggerated smile, yawning around the mouthpiece. He nodded his head in a magnified “Yes!” then made an O.K. sign and led me deeper, using his compass and surfacing once to check his direction by sighting the boat.
After a 10-minute swim, we suddenly came to a maze of underwater canyons thick with enormous sponges and coral fans, around which schools of circus-colored fish zigzagged. Plump purple sea pens with feathery quills stood in sand inkwells. Tiny tube worms — shaped like Christmas trees, feather dusters, maypole streamers, parasols — jutted out of the coral heads. Sea relationships are sometimes like those in a Russian novel; a worm enters the larder of a fine, respectable coral to steal its food, and just stays there, never being evicted. I moved my palm over a red-and-white striped parasol, and in a flash it folded up its umbrella and dragged it back inside the coral. It’s a game divers love to play with tube worms: abracadabra, and the tube worm vanishes.
On a coral butte just in front of us, a dark sea whip jutted out between the canyon walls, its Medusa-like hair straggling in the current. I laughed. That sea whip’s hair is just like my own.
Then I remembered: We’re mainly salt water, we carry the ocean inside us. The simple, stupefying truth that, as a woman, I am a minute ocean, in the dark tropic of whose womb eggs lay coded as roe, floating in the sea that wet-nursed us all, moved me deeply. I pulled my mask up and washed my face with salt water, fitted it back on and exhaled through my nose to clear it.
From then on, I was hooked, and often returned to the sea to re-experience the visible links of that invisible chain.