Creative writing Belonging Free Essays

His bony elbow protruded from beneath a thin brown layer of skin, its leathery texture coated with blistering sweat sparkled underneath the unmerciful sun as he leant against his cab. We exchanged glances and spoke in native tongues. As he spoke his skeletal fingers flick the sweat soaked hair from his eyes. We will write a custom essay sample on Creative writing Belonging or any similar topic only for you Order Now Pointed towards the trunk and flung my Pravda luggage beneath the hood. He turned on the radio to a soft Vietnamese melody and headed towards my grandmother’s home. I sat in the back, watched the passing sceneries In an alarm- conditioned cab as if they were a movie. I watched as the pale clouds enveloped the sky, engulfed the sun and swallowed my everyday worries. Below on the grassy paddocks kids aged around 6-7, with bent backs and lifted buttocks, worked for their daily meals, knees deep in muddy water, fingers groping pitifully against the blood sucking leeches. Their ‘among la’, straw hats, hung over their eyes, their dark pupils dilated and fingers numbed at each plunge they made Into the murky water. As the driver pulled over at a gas station, got out and headed towards one of the teenage rockers an old man limping with a twisted leg, held raffle tickets In one hand while the other hung mutilated and broken by his side. He begged and begged with a cracked voice choking on each word that sipped from his lips, â€Å"Plea, please I beg of you. Leap me, MME poor. I have nothing. † HIS elongated fingers slipped through the window and begged for money. I stared at his desperation In disbelief, and handed over 100,000 dung, five dollars Australian money. He bowed and bowed as he walked off, glancing back with thanks In his eyes. As he left, more and more beggars started to crowd the car, In pure panic I rolled up my window and watched In disgust as they slammed and rocked the car begging for money. They were Like zombies In an apocalypse. I hate this. I hate this place. I held both hands over my ears, shut my eyes and started humming. The driver emerged from the crowd and made his way towards the front seat. We drove off leaving the Image of poverty behind us. The driver turned and called out to me. HIS deep vibrant voice contrasted against his outward appearance, he tapped me and told me that we had arrived. The vivacious azure colored wall winked at me, welcoming me through the door. There grandmother stood with open arms, she brushed back my fringe and gave me a warm reassuring kiss that wiped away my Jet lag and provided me with the comfort that I missed. The warm embrace made me forget the poverty that was Just on the other side of the wall. It made me realism that even If I worried about the poverty that existed outside, I could do nothing to help It. And soon the worry had disappeared. Nothing but the lingering warmth remained. Grandmother’s home. I sat in the back, watched the passing sceneries in an air- dilated and fingers numbed at each plunge they made into the murky water. As the workers an old man limping with a twisted leg, held raffle tickets in one hand while you. Leap me, MME poor. I have nothing. † His elongated fingers slipped through the window and begged for money. I stared at his desperation in disbelief, and he walked off, glancing back with thanks in his eyes. As he left, more and more gears started to crowd the car, in pure panic I rolled up my window and watched in disgust as they slammed and rocked the car begging for money. They were like zombies in an apocalypse. I hate this. I hate this place. Made his way towards the front seat. We drove off leaving the image of poverty behind us. The driver turned and called out to me. His deep vibrant voice contrasted other side of the wall. It made me realism that even if I worried about the poverty that existed outside, I could do nothing to help it. And soon the worry had disappeared. How to cite Creative writing Belonging, Papers