Category Archives: Descriptive

Q) Describe a time when performing in front of a crowd. By Mahum Ali Awan

Standard

With bated breath, I stood behind the thick red stage curtains that were shielding me from the bright flashes that would soon encompass me as soon as the barrier of fabric was pulled aside.

Hours of preparation could never gird my loins for what awaited me.

Ultimate humiliation. 

My stomach was in knots, making me wish I could keel over and puke my guts out. Unfortunately, I could not. 

I can duly confirm that a medical phenomenon took place in my abdomen, as I waited for my impending doom, when I felt my intestines twist and turn. Nausea arose, as the hefty drapes were pulled apart. I swallowed the lump in my throat, or rather, tried to swallow it but it seemed to have refused to go down. 

I focused on my surroundings in order to divert my attention from the unsettling thoughts in my head. 

The first to catch my eye was the nearly full theatre, which was not a good sight for my queasy middle. I looked down and focused hard on the floor sheets, which gave an unsuccessful impression of an authentic hardwood floor, which were peeling from the sides and caused a fellow cast mate of mine to trip over them. I suppressed a smile as I strained my eyes to admire the hues of brown on the ground.

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

The pulsations of the music synchronized with my racing heartbeat, creating an entirely new kind of tune. 

Beads of sweat slowly formed on my temples, a rather large one slid down from the middle of my forehead and went straight between my eyebrows, then it stopped slightly before speeding down the slope of my nose. 

My chest rose as I gulped down air in order to cool my overheated build and reduce the copious amount of perspiration that had collected on my face and neck. 

It was finally time for me to begin my performance, as indicated by the redolent looks given by the director, a mousy looking man who had a wispy mustache. 

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat – once, twice, thrice – but it seemed my vocal cords had refused to cooperate. The director’s glare grew even more menacing just as my face began to burn and I turned to flee from the stage of my embarrassment.

Q) Describe your lucky charm. By Zymal Rizwan

Standard

Thirteen. It’s a simple number some people refer to as an unlucky number but that wasn’t the case for someone like Zymal. Thirteen was an important number to her; it was her lucky charm and it wasn’t something she hid; she rather talked about it obsessively. 

Zymal was someone who a lot of people knew she was a singer or artist as some might say, it was true she did create art. She always wrote her own songs which were never meaningless; they were detailed and written beautifully. Some might say that she was successful as she was talented which was true but she always gave credits to her lucky charm. She had many reasons why it was her lucky charm and why it was also her favourite number. 

She was born on the thirteenth,she turned thirteen on Friday the thirteenth,she wrote a song called thirteen and the song became a hit once it was out,her first album went gold in thirteen weeks,her first song to ever go number one on the charts had a thirteen second intro(which she says she didn’t do on purpose),and every time she had won an award at an award show she sat in the thirteenth row or thrown “M” which is the thirteenth letter. She somehow always found ways to relate thirteen in things she does. She also talks about the time when she first won an award after a performance the producer had come to her and told her she’s going on in thirteen seconds and later she won the award she was nominated for and her performance went well as well. 

Another thing she does that she gets called nerdy for is to make sure she has a good show. One of her pre show “rituals” was to have her mother draw on a thirteen on her hand before every show with makeup and she never used to go on stage without it. One time she said that her mom couldn’t be there and she didn’t want to draw the thirteen herself as she felt it ruined the “ritual” so she didn’t end up drawing it in that same concert she fell down while singing a song and fell down when climbing the stairs as well and she remembers the concert after that when her mom did draw it in her hand went smoothly.

She had always thought about how her thirteenth album would be but knew that time was way to far so when two thousand and thirteen came around she decided to release an album then she usually did country songs and was known as a country singer but for this album she decided to switch genres to see if it worked for her as pop music was making a huge impact in the music industry. She was nervous about releasing the album as it was her first experience with pop music but the outcome and feedback was incredibly positive and the album became the most awarded pop album in history. 

Even it only being her first pop album it made a huge impact in pop-culture music as many people recognised it as a unique work of art and she thought she had never made a better decision and once again found it crazy that the album was released in two thousand and thirteen. 

She found it weird why people considered thirteen as an unlucky number as it had always been the best lucky charm for her and would always dream about getting ten more cats so she could have thirteen cats in total.

Q) Write a passage entitled, “Last night I dreamt…” By Ibraheem Tareen

Standard

Dreams for the average person last around twenty to thirty minutes. Considering what people have told me about their dreams and my own experiences…dreams don’t have to time to be rational or sensible. One minute you’re trying to escape killer robots ,the next you’re in a gang and time slows down during shootouts ,and on really special days there will be insects that resemble the combination of a cricket cockroach and grasshopper if they were all ten times larger.

However ,there are times when our minds are at ease.band in this case ,dreams don’t occur. Last nights was one of those nights ,where I dreamt about nothing. I don’t see it as a bad thing ,it’s incredibly relaxing despite the fact that there’s nothing there to relax me. There’s no scented candles ,there’s no shimmering raindrops or shining stars ,there’s no flowing rivers by the bank ,and there’s no cascading waves along the ocean. The Sun and Moon have both gone to sleep and all of space and time has spiralled in on itself until it’s as far away from me as needed. And no matter how much I can try and move closer towards it ,it’s futile.Now that everything and everyone is gone ,what about me? The answers quite simple , I’ll just relax.

After all the stress of having to deal with your school or job ,trying so hard day in and day out ,everyone deserves a bit of respite from their real lives ,and what better respite than the void?

Last night was one of those nights , where I dreamt about nothing simply because I didn’t want to dream about anything.

Q) Write a passage entitled “Last night I dreamt…” By Aamina Waleed

Standard

Last night, I had one of the most strangest dreams. I dreamt of another universe. Its name? I had no clue. The reason I was there in the first place? I can not recall either. All I was certain of is that I was definitely not in the place I called my home. I was somewhere far away, somewhere unknown.

The area I was located in was undoubtedly beautiful. A bright pink sky with absolutely no sighting of any moon or sun. Blue grass under my feet that prickled me the more I walked forward, and overall a very calm and relaxing atmosphere. I do not remember much of the dream, it’s all like a blur to me, but what I do clearly remember is being in awe of the scenery surrounding me. 

Not long after, I was stopped in my tracks by what I believed to be a rose bush. Taking my time to inspect from far away, I soon made up my mind to jog towards it and take a closer look. It’s not everyday you find yourself in an unknown location with a mysterious wild rose bush appearing in front of you.

As I stood in front of the bush, I could clearly view the remarkable appearance of the roses that were not visible from afar. A rich crimson colour coating the smooth petals making it look quite delicate, along with a strong fragrance that lingered around. It’s hard for me to pinpoint exactly what it was, but it smelled sweet-scented and heavenly. 

The only thing stopping me from reaching my hand out and plucking one of the roses was the sharp thorns protruding out in uneven angles, but curiosity took over me and I couldn’t stop my shaky hand from extending itself towards it. 

Slowly, and carefully, my hand made its way out to the fresh deep red rose, but as soon as my fingers made contact, everything went black and I had woken from my dream. 

Q. Describe (a moment of) madness. By Tooba Hashmi

Standard

I heard a scream.
A scream so chilling, it was like music to my ears. It was the sound of water trickling down a stream. It was the sound of birds chirping early in the morning. It was the sound of the pages of your favorite book flipping as you read on. It was peace. It was affection. It was beauty. 
A low rumble of laughter escaped my own throat as I thought about the irony, and that’s when I opened my eyes. 
Children playing, running around, giggling, having not a care in the world was what I was met by. They sprinted across a field of lush green grass, which was almost blinding because of its vibrance. The ocean, which was apparently the sky, spread out behind them, threatening to swallow them whole while tricking them by it’s faux sense of security.
Then a new air reached my nose. No, it was a smell. Death. It was the smell of death. It was the smell of rotting flesh. It was the smell of fear. 
Blood.
Yes, it was blood.
And surely, when I looked back, the small balls of joy were covered, rather dripping, in a crimson red substance. Little purple spots littered their tiny bodies, wounds as some would call them, while rather long openings exposing their striking pink flesh, with a soothing white of bone to complement the colour scheme, hung out. 
Tears dripped down their soft, flushed cheeks, as they still chuckled, but the turmoil could be seen in their lovely, round eyes, as they desperately searched for an escape. 
I could almost taste their pain. I chewed on it. I crunched their pleas for help between my teeth. I swallowed their innocence. I digested any hope they had left. 
And so, came forth the feeling. That indescribable sensation that spread through my body. 
It was madness.
And madness was magnificent. Madness was fulfilling. Madness was satisfaction. Madness was content. Madness was bliss. 
Drunk on this delight, I blinked again, only to be greeted by the dreary walls of my cell. 

Describe (a moment of) madness. By Ahmad Raja

Standard

(Searching for something in the river)

“GOLD GOLD GOLD!”, Screamed Hajaturian  

Hajaturian couldn’t control his excitement, his happiness, his emotions.

Hands splashing on the water made water droplets fly up in the air and the sunlight which was coming on his face was refracted by the happy water droplets which made tiny rainbows on Hajaturian’s beautiful face,having two hazel eyes looking like the world’s most beautiful and priceless gems by the sun’s rays traveling in. 

His beautiful big smile surrounded by his blackish white beard had become a safe haven for the water droplets, the droplets which didn’t want to go back in the river, wanted to stay out and see the outer world, to see and feel Hajaturian’s emotions, the reason for his excitement.

“What a madman.”, Giggled the handful of people around Hajaturian who were volunteers assisting him just for his joyful company.

“GOLD!”, They also screamed.

Laughter and screams of people screaming ‘gold’ had taken over the environment.

A mad yet lovely environment was made by this.

Just imagine a scene of a movie in slow motion, people splashing water, having huge smiles on their faces, laughing and hugging each other, everyone kissing Hajaturian’s cheeks and praising him.

Making snow angels in the flowing river.

A fate changing moment, a moment of love, a moment or madness. 

Q) Describe an antique store. By Ayesha Amirzeb Sheikh

Standard

I entered the store. The bell on the top of the door jingles informing the owner that another customer has entered the shops. As I enter and take my first few steps my nostrils and mouth are filled with the smell of dust. I can feel the dust particles go down my throat as I try to swallow the foul taste. There are shelves and shelves filled with unusual objects. The whole store seems to be covered with dust. This store has so much dust that you can actually see the dust in the air and will also notice the difference in color of the air. Outside the store the air is clean and fresh here the air is stale. The store is rather sad as there’s nothing which isn’t covered in dust. 

I move my index finger along the dust-colored walls to find it instantly turn black due to the amount of dust. Though everything here is covered in dust yet there seems to be some kind of magic in the air. 

The store is filled with amazing magical items. It almost seems like I’m Alice, and now I’ve entered Wonderland except this time through a door not a rabbit hole. Shelves filled with old treasured books, strange looking silverware, unusually looking clocks, some which are moving at two times the actual speed and even statues of strange people. There were statues of Greek Gods as well. A two faced statue, one face was smiling and the other crying. The marble was smooth under my fingers and I touched the statue. Beautiful paintings of different Lords of ancient time. Ancient radios, cycles, chairs, books and furniture. 

There were some… interesting things as well like pebbles, worn out summer gloves claiming to be powerful, hats claiming to make the wearer invisible, a broken umbrella which declared to protect the holder from bats. Clocks with five hands instead of two, one of which was moving at such a great speed you could barely see it.

There was a whole shelf for old books. Some books are declared to be read by famous Kings and Queens of the past. Books which were shelf-worn, having bumped corners covered in dust, the spine falling apart indicating how many times it had been read before. Some books I could recognize like Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice while others are foreign. 

One section was filled with instruments. Olden instruments were placed in that corner. Trumpets, drums, harmoniums, mouth organs, flutes and many more. Some are so tempting that I risk moving a finger against the strings of an old guitar. I can feel the deep vibrations as a beautiful sound is emitted. 

Some things actually catch my eye like silverware, suited for a Queen. In one corner there are jewellery said to be found from treasure chests of Queens. The jewelry was very catchy. Gold rings and necklaces, silver earrings and many more. There were rusted coins and stamps, sundials,water clocks and even some religious books.

There’s peace and quiet in the store. I can even hear the creak of wood under my feet as I move forward to explore. I can even hear the creaking of the not-properly oiled fan moving at such a slow pace yet still the store is rather cool.

This antique store is magical. You can feel the souls and spirits of the previous Lords, Ladies, Kings and Queens coming and going. The store might be empty yet it’s actually alive.

Q. Describe your favourite time of the year. By Noor Liza Rashid

Standard

I treasure the thirty-first of December. It makes the city jam-packed with holidaymakers, and now in the chilly gusts of rain and wind, taking strolls on the imperfectly fractured pavement is what anyone wants. The frosty grass peeks from the cracks ready to be flattened and compressed upon impact with winter boots. The air shimmers with snow-flakes as white as the pale ashes of wasted coal, and even the surface of  puddles from yesterday’s storm are icy and frozen, with water swirling with rainbow streaks underneath. The market deflates, with everyone lighting up their Christmas decorations from the previous week. Almost everyone looks forward to this day, when work and schools are closed and they get to celebrate with their cherished ones.

The streets fill up with the sweet fragrance of roasted nuts, hot coffees and freshly baked pies. The talented musicians merrily play their ancient instruments not for the sake of earning some silver but only to satisfy and entertain themselves. The pedestrians sway and twirl to the joyful tunes without a care in the world. This is the only day when one walks great distances without a destination. The day when no one gets tired of walking.

The people are unworried,blithe and heedless. It is not surprising that everyone has one thing common on this very day. A silly grin from ear to ear, vast as the universe, revealing shiny pearls,some crooked and some made to scale. Everyone is in a cheery mood. Salutations and enthusiastic cheers echo amidst the crowd. Shops are covered in a spectrum of fairy lights and ornaments swinging from their chimneys down to their wooden and rustic thresholds. Some people stoop and curve on the pavement trying their best to capture the tremendous joys of this day ,with their squinting eyes stuck to big black cameras while some volunteer at different stalls of food, decorations,games, handicrafts and most importantly fireworks. The children turn red because of excitement. They run around with devilish smiles on their faces ready to prank their parents and strangers.All of the people are covered in thick, colorfully knitted scarves and beanies as they intend to stay out and await the very precious moment when the clock strikes twelve. 

It’s funny how time flies when you’re having fun! It’s almost nine at night. The people are starting to gather at the square, holding picnic baskets while some hold silvery,gleaming thermoses filled with blazing hot beverages whose smoke merges with the ultramarine sky. The weather turns extremely cold, biting and piercing into the skin. Everyone has settled down on the floor with their cozy yarn blankets and soft pillows to support their backs. Families fill the space with lively chatter, laughter and happiness. Their lively chatter is enough to make strangers smile and awaken their interest in their conversations. They don’t care about what others might think of them and simply enjoy the night because they know everyone intends to celebrate the night. 

I lean back against my pillow, covering myself with a snug bright yellow quilt which my grandmother had made for me when I was five. The blanket still smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg and felt quite homely. It made me feel closer to my family. I gaze at the sky peeking through vibrant,triangle shaped banners tied across the poles. The sky is blackish blue, textured like velvet, making the twinkling stars appear brighter and magnificent. Tiny vibrations can be felt as the subway trains dash through their tracks underground. I close my eyes for a minute taking in the fresh winter breeze,piercing through my cheeks and into my nose. I feel at peace. What was supposed to last for a slight moment had turned into a power-nap.

It’s almost time. The arms of the clock struggle to reach twelve. The people are up on their feet, packing up their heavy blankets and getting ready to light up the fireworks.

Some people have an expression of fear on their faces while some are exhilarated.

The aura floods with different feelings and emotions. The people pray to god for a year filled with ease, successful businesses and hope. Everyone has a goal in their minds. A goal to achieve certain achievements, overcome obstacles,better their relationships. Some look to the sky and wish for a nice job,good grades,a new dress and even a golden-retriever .

 It’s eleven fifty-eight. The band starts strumming their instruments, the children help in torching the fireworks placed linearly in the middle of the square and heads start to turn to the sky. Within a split second a magnificent display of vivid, flaming, flower patterns glide into the sky and uninterrupted,overlapping cheers and cries of ‘Happy New Year’ echo throughout the city. 

Q) Describe a Peaceful Place. By Hafsa Nauman

Standard

The wet, desolate streets of the city rested in silence as the starry black sky wept over it. The water in the portholes shimmered by the glow of the bright, yellow street lamps. The small, green trees on the roadside swayed as the strong breeze hit them.

Above a faded zebra crossing, a traffic light frantically changed colors seeming rather like a disco light. A watchman snored comfortably on his dark brown stool under the protection of his shop’s roof. Huge giant buildings stood besides the street, quiet as if taken over by an army of libraries. Some windows gave out white and yellow lights, but the others were pitch black. It seemed like the clouds had gotten a sudden fascination to the moon and wrapped themselves around it. The moon’s faint glow passed through them, coloring them white from grey. The cool monsoon air carried a sweet moist scent like a candy shop kept inside a refrigerator. The pitter-pattering of the rain, which was now deaf to ears, was interrupted time by time during the night. Once a car passed by. Stray dogs began barking, while the deafening music from the car echoed around the street. The car soon disappeared and the dogs stopped barking satisfied that they had scared the car away. Later, a taxi came down the road and parked. A bunch of young kids came out laughing emphatically. The taxi drove away but the children stood at the corner of the lane, yet laughing vigorously. A man screeched out from his window and cursed at the noisy children who went mute immediately. A few lights flickered open through the windows and nosy neighbors looked out to inquire. Aunties made sure they had  memorized enough points to gossip over tomorrow. 

The rustling and bustling gave me comfort looking at the stars dancing across the sky fighting against the grey to show off their beauty. Their melody slowly lulled me to sleep, reciting their visual poetry for the eyes willing to follow the rhythm. Wooden doors creaked as night-owls rushed out from their home’s embrace over the high balconies of the old apartments admiring the city come alive at night. The smell of fallen rain, petrichor wafted around the neighbourhood, deep sighs could be heard echoing down the street, spreading a sheet of calm over the people like aromatherapy. Gazes darted at the serenity of the atmosphere encapsulating them into a bubble. 

You could hear the footsteps of children running away from their mothers desperately trying to put them to sleep or that of tired fathers blasting the news on full volume, the sound of the headlines dispersing all over the neighbourhood. Crickets played their harmonies for their fans to hear, while cats attacked each other, revolting against the injustices of the kingdom in the streets. Meowing loudly in protest. The cricket doors slammed again. The streets of the city now rested again in lifeless silence except the gentle pattering of the raindrops. It lay there just like it had for many a changing year ready to rise when the sun’s auburn rays would start to cast grey shadows over it. My heart yearns for the city’s livelihood, putting me at home, at peace, at last.