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Holidays Assignment

I was waiting by the gate, a deep brown gate. I could still smell the fresh paint, smooth and silky against my wandering fingers. It let out a squeak as I opened it. I swung it back and forth for a few moments making a mental note to oil it later. I moved forwards, closing the gate behind me. I leant against one of the trees, its bright green leaves blowing gently in the soft wind, a beautiful contrast against the brilliant blue cloudless sky. I tore off one of its leaves, filling its smooth rubberises between my fingers.

I moved it to my forehead, gliding across my temple, down the bridge of my nose, leaving a fresh scent wherever it touched my skin. Against my lips, cool. Refreshing. Down my chin, neck seamlessly slipping then dropping from the grasp of my fingers, falling to my feet in the wind control turning over, and over again. It was early morning. The neighbourhood was almost silent, unmoving. Letting loose an inner feeling of peace. The only disturbance came from a few birds who from time to time, flew from tree to tree, all the while singing in their sweet voices.

The wind carrying their song, down the road, as if spreading a message of harmony from door to door. The sun beat down hard against my bare skin. Wonderfully hot, like sheets of fire disguised as silk were draping around my body. Wrapping itself around my legs, thighs, across my stomach and arms, up to my face basking in the sun’s glory. A jeep rolled up in front of me, silver, quite dirty but proudly gleaming in the light of the sun. I picked up my bag and reached out for the door handle.

It was rough and had got hot from under the sun’s warmth. I swung the door open and climbed in, it smelt fresh, not in the same way as the leaves but fresh in the sense of cleanliness. Slamming the door shut behind me. I made my self comfortable, my body adjusting to the coolness of the cars air conditioning. I greeted each of the people in the car, kissing my close friends’ cheeks. My thigh rubbed the person next to me. Rough and cool against my smooth warm one. I looked around the car to all the friendly faces, all happy and smiling.

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Some singing along to the radio, other screaming at each other laughing, whilst throwing each other food and packets of crisps. Within what seemed like seconds, we arrived. We all jumped out of the car onto the hard sand. Grabbing our stuff we ran down to the beach, the wind rushing all over my body, teasing my hair, caressing my legs and blowing up my skirt, wrapping itself around my thighs rolling and sticking to me with the strength of the wind. Laughter seemed to erupt from my mouth, was carried by the wind and left behind. My hands were clutched tightly around my bag and throwing them onto a sunbed.

I ripped off my skirt and top, hastily stuffing them into my bag. I ran down to the shore, the soft golden brown beads of sand gleamed against the sunlight, covering my feet as if eating them, every time I stepped into it. My feet soon felt soft, wet sand, which stuck to the soles of my feet, cold and clingy, like mud. I felt the wind against my face, I tasted the salt against my lips and the cold transparent water swirling around my ankles soon spreading up my legs, past my knees and finally to my waist, still clear and still so cold.

I soon felt the waters cool against my chest and face, splashing against my back. Refreshing me and hazing my sight. I was soon soaking. Water dripped down from my hair down my back. I brought up my arms and lowered my head springing from my feet I divided into the turquoise bliss. Water swirling all about me. Making waves in my hair. Gliding all over my body like a curtain of transparent silk. I felt and tasted the salt against my lips and now opened my eyes.

I saw the beautiful sand below me, on which rested a golden red starfish, slowly moving with the help of the current along the seabed, further and further away. The gentle ripples of sand softened and slipped through my fingers, making clouds. My head broke the surface and I gasped for the sweet air of which I had been deprived. I was back at home. I opened the brown gate. Heard the same old squeak, closing it behind me. For a few moments I stood there swinging the gate back and forth, making a mental note to oil it later.

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Holidays. (2017, Sep 27). Retrieved from https://primetimeessay.com/holidays/

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