Descriptive Essay

Broken Beauty

The unusual day started with my dad’s foul words in the air hitting my ear. I quickly come to realize that the day was going to be bad. My hair moist and my body cold from the shower I have just stepped out of. I feel the cold hard floor under my bare feet as I walk on the dark tar across the street. I can smell the rain of last nights pour as I approach my Mercedes Benz that sits on four tires across the street, I notice the small particles lying all over the ground. My worst dreams have come true; someone has disrespectfully damaged my car.

The tan color exterior of the beauty has been tarnished with hate. The glossy paint shined as the sun’s rays bounced right off it. All my eyes are focused on the empty space at the rear of my car where my window used to be. Little pieces of glass like, scattered confetti after a parade, lie on the trunk of my car and the black tar of the road. As I look in astonishment of the destruction of the exterior, the interior had it much worst.

The slick black leather glistens in the sun and is sprinkled with little glass treats that I did not want on my back seats. The weapon of choice lays on the seat dark and round with small craters all around it. I relive the moment in my head, thinking of someone’s hands holding the rock over their head and launching it through my back

window fiercely. The material around the rear speaker of my car looked like a bear swiped it with its claws. The rock left a reminder of the damage that has put my car through misery.

As I ran my hand along the car I could feel every inch of damage along my finger tips. The feel of the indentations from a sharp rock felt like I had just lost something dear to me. Every little bump I felt from the tiny pieces of glass lying on my car hurts my skin. As I stick my hand through the space where the window used to stand, I felt an eeriness that runs through my body. As I hold a handful of broken pieces of glass it felt like things could never come back to the way they were suppose to be.

As I walk away in tears trying to block out the swearing of my dad’s mouth, I felt that I was the one at fault. Something that I sense that I could not hear, see, or touch, is the sense that was most prominent; the feeling that the beauty was broken into and nothing was stolen. Nothing but pure hatred was the cause of this incident. I did not let this bring me down for I am stronger than the material things that I have and care for.