abandoned house description essay

Home — Essay Samples — Life — House — Short Story: “The Abandoned House”

Description of an Abandoned House: a Short Story

• Categories: House Short Story

About this sample

Words: 759 |

Published: Feb 12, 2019

Words: 759 | Page: 1 | 4 min read

Works Cited

• Poe, E. A. (1849). The Fall of the House of Usher. Wiley and Putnam.
• Lovecraft, H. P. (1927). The Colour Out of Space. Amazing Stories, 2(6), 447-480.
• King, S. (1977). The Shining. Doubleday.
• Jackson, S. (1959). The Haunting of Hill House. Viking Press.
• Shelley, M. (1818). Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus. Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor, & Jones.
• Matheson, R. (1954). I Am Legend. Gold Medal Books.
• Stoker, B. (1897). Dracula. Archibald Constable and Company.
• Straub, P. (1979). Ghost Story. Coward, McCann & Geoghegan.
• Morrison, T. (1987). Beloved. Alfred A. Knopf.
• Shelley, M. (1831). The Last Man. Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley.

Cite this Essay

To export a reference to this article please select a referencing style below:

Let us write you an essay from scratch

• 450+ experts on 30 subjects ready to help
• Custom essay delivered in as few as 3 hours

Get high-quality help

Dr. Heisenberg

Verified writer

• Expert in: Life Literature

+ 120 experts online

By clicking “Check Writers’ Offers”, you agree to our terms of service and privacy policy . We’ll occasionally send you promo and account related email

No need to pay just yet!

Related Essays

1 pages / 478 words

1 pages / 624 words

6 pages / 3355 words

3 pages / 1317 words

Remember! This is just a sample.

You can get your custom paper by one of our expert writers.

121 writers online

Still can’t find what you need?

Browse our vast selection of original essay samples, each expertly formatted and styled

Henrik Ibsen's play A Doll's House, first performed in 1879, remains a significant work in the discussion of social issues, particularly those pertaining to gender roles, societal expectations, and the quest for personal [...]

Many ask, "what does home mean to you?" For me, home is not just a place…it’s a feeling. “What I love most about my home is who I share it with.” “There is nothing more important than a good, safe, secure home.” “Home is [...]

Home, sweet home. Each one of us has the place, which brings back good memories, is the symbol of comfort and wellness, revokes memories related to music, objects, colors, people, and dishes. This place is called home. It is [...]

Any house can be a home. To us, a house is a home that includes the pieces of community, family, memories, culture, and laughter. A home is a place where people help each other to overcome anxieties, find comfort through [...]

It is important that the Executive House Keeper understands the different type of surfaces in the hotel in order to decide how best to take care for them. Hard surfaces are found in different forms in different areas of the [...]

"Cavity wall insulation is method used to reduce heat loss through the walls filling the air space with material that inhibits heat transfer. Cavity walls are constructed in houses. It is an outside wall and an [...]

Related Topics

By clicking “Send”, you agree to our Terms of service and Privacy statement . We will occasionally send you account related emails.

Where do you want us to send this sample?

By clicking “Continue”, you agree to our terms of service and privacy policy.

Be careful. This essay is not unique

This essay was donated by a student and is likely to have been used and submitted before

Download this Sample

Free samples may contain mistakes and not unique parts

Sorry, we could not paraphrase this essay. Our professional writers can rewrite it and get you a unique paper.

Please check your inbox.

We can write you a custom essay that will follow your exact instructions and meet the deadlines. Let's fix your grades together!

Get Your Personalized Essay in 3 Hours or Less!

We use cookies to personalyze your web-site experience. By continuing we’ll assume you board with our cookie policy .

• Instructions Followed To The Letter
• Deadlines Met At Every Stage
• Unique And Plagiarism Free

• Skip to main content
• Skip to primary sidebar

Writing Tips Oasis - A website dedicated to helping writers to write and publish books.

10 Words that Describe an Abandoned House

By Ali Dixon

A house that is no longer inhabited can make a mysterious setting in a novel across so many genres. If you need  some words  that describe an abandoned house, use the following 10 as a source of inspiration.

1. Deserted

An area devoid of life ; a wild or forbidding place.

“The quiet house appeared completely  deserted , though they still approached it with significant caution.”

“The  deserted  house stood in the middle of the empty plain. The only signs of life were the sounds of mice scuttling and scavenging for what the previous owners had left behind.”

How It Adds Description

The word deserted often implies an intention when it’s used in this context. The people who used to live in the house you’re describing may have left it on purpose, and you can use that to make your readers feel unnerved as they read about it.

2. Desolate

Empty of inhabitants or life ; joyless or sorrowful, usually because of some kind of separation; lacking comfort or hope.

“The floorboard of the  desolate  house creaked under his feet as he explored the rooms.”

“While the other houses on the street teemed with life, this one was cold and  desolate. ”

When you use the word desolate to describe an abandoned house, this can help to make the house seem even more threatening. It can also give off a real sense of bleakness to your readers.

Reflecting or displaying discouragement or listlessness ; lacking in comfort or cheer; somber or gloomy.

“The inclement bad weather on the horizon made the house appear even more  dreary .”

“The moth-eaten curtains fell still as the breeze stopped, the atmosphere in the room suddenly becoming  dreary  again.”

Describing something as dreary will instantly set a cold and gloomy mood. If you want to make sure that your readers understand that this house is something completely devoid of any life, this is a good word to use. The dreariness of the house could also represent a lack of motivation or hope in your characters.

4. Derelict

Abandoned by an occupant ; voluntarily abandoned.

“The house used to be owned by a wealthy woman who had abandoned it some years ago. Now it stood empty and  derelict .”

“The  derelict  house had not been maintained, and she worried that it would fall apart with her inside.”

The word derelict implies that something has been abandoned purposefully, which can help add an ominous tone to your description. Perhaps something inside it was dangerous that forced the previous occupant to leave it behind which your character must now discover.

Not having anything in it; uninhabited or unoccupied.

“He could imagine the house in its heyday with beautiful decorations and plenty of visitors instead of the  empty  shell he saw before him now.”

“The owner had taken all of her things with her, leaving the house now completely  empty .”

The house you’re describing may literally have nothing inside it, which makes this word a great one to use to describe it. You can also use it to make it seem like it’s empty, and then have something surprise your characters and readers later.

6. Untended

Not managed or watched over .

“The plants in the house’s  untended  garden had been left to grow wild, and now vines completely covered the south side of the house.”

“The house was large enough to warrant cleaning staff, but since it had been abandoned it had been left completely  untended , and she doubted it would ever look the way it once had again.”

Describing the abandoned house you have in your story as untended can help readers feel as though there is almost something wild about it now that no one is caring for it.

Not well-kept ; lacking in quality; faded from wear.

“The house looked  shabby —it was clear that no one had lived in it in a long time.”

“The once comfortable and beautiful furniture had faded and become  shabby  with age and time.”

Shabby is a good word to use to describe the way that the abandoned house in your story looks. By describing it using this word, you’ll give readers the sense that it’s not a good-looking house or that it’s been neglected for some time.

8. Forgotten

Disregarded ; something that people have lost remembrance for; overlooked, sometimes intentionally.

“Whoever had been left in charge of caring for the house hadn’t done so in some time, and now the house appeared to be completely  forgotten .”

“To find the old journal, they would have to sift through the abandoned,  forgotten  house at the end of the street.”

Using the word forgotten tells readers that not only is this house abandoned, but the person or people meant to care for it have disregarded its existence entirely. You can imply a much more somber mood by using this word.

9. Forsaken

To forsake something is to turn away from it entirely ; forgotten.

“They were quick to help the man in need, but they left the house itself  forsaken .”

“The house had been  forsaken  long ago, and she wasn’t eager to investigate it now to see why.”

If you describe the abandoned house in your story as forsaken, your readers will immediately get the sense that this isn’t a house that’s simply been left behind. It’s something that was intentionally abandoned or turned away from for whatever reason.

10. Neglected

Not cared for or provided with the necessary attention .

“The house had obviously been  neglected  for some time, and it was now overrun with small animals and dust.”

“Even while they were living there, the previous owners had left the house  neglected , and now that it was abandoned it looked worse than ever.”

The word neglect implies an intentional act to leave something or to not care for it. If you use this word to describe the house in your story, you can also use it as a way to symbolize that the character looking at it may also feel neglected in some way.

Essay on Abandoned House

Students are often asked to write an essay on Abandoned House in their schools and colleges. And if you’re also looking for the same, we have created 100-word, 250-word, and 500-word essays on the topic.

Let’s take a look…

100 Words Essay on Abandoned House

What is an abandoned house.

An abandoned house is a home that no one lives in anymore. People might leave a house for many reasons. They might move to a new place, or they might not have enough money to keep it. Sometimes, they leave because the house is in bad shape. Over time, these houses can become very old and worn out.

Look of an Abandoned House

Abandoned houses often look scary or sad. They might have broken windows, peeling paint, or overgrown gardens. Inside, they might be full of dust and cobwebs. They are usually very quiet, except for the sounds of wind or animals.

Abandoned Houses and Stories

Many people think abandoned houses are full of stories. For example, they might wonder about the people who used to live there. They might also imagine ghosts or treasures hidden inside. These stories can make abandoned houses seem exciting and mysterious.

Abandoned Houses and Nature

Abandoned houses can also be important for nature. For example, plants might grow in the garden, or animals might make nests inside. In this way, abandoned houses can become new homes for wildlife.

250 Words Essay on Abandoned House

An abandoned house is a home that no one lives in anymore. People may leave their houses for many reasons. Some may move to a new place. Others may not be able to take care of their house. Over time, these houses become empty and start to fall apart.

An abandoned house often looks old and scary. The paint might be peeling off. The windows may be broken. Grass and plants may grow all over the place. You might even see animals like birds or mice living there.

Why are Houses Abandoned?

There can be many reasons why a house is abandoned. Sometimes, people move to a new place and leave their old house behind. Other times, the house may be too old or damaged to live in. In some cases, the owner of the house may have passed away and there is no one to take care of it.

What Happens to Abandoned Houses?

Abandoned houses can become a problem. They can be unsafe and bring down the value of other houses in the area. Sometimes, the city or town will step in to clean up the house. They might fix it up and sell it, or they might tear it down to make room for something new.

Many people find abandoned houses interesting. They often wonder about the stories behind these houses. Who lived there? Why did they leave? These questions can spark the imagination and lead to creative stories and adventures.

500 Words Essay on Abandoned House

Introduction.

An abandoned house is a place where people once lived but have moved away and left it empty. It can often be seen in areas where people have moved to new places for jobs or other reasons. These houses are like silent stories, waiting to be told. They are full of mystery and can ignite curiosity in anyone who passes by.

The Look of an Abandoned House

An abandoned house usually looks old and worn out. The paint on the walls might be peeling off, and the windows are often broken or boarded up. The garden, if there is one, is usually overgrown with weeds and wild plants. The house might be leaning to one side or the other because no one has taken care of it for a long time. It’s like a ghost of its past, standing alone and forgotten.

The Feeling Around an Abandoned House

The inside of an abandoned house.

Inside an abandoned house, things are usually in a state of decay. The furniture, if any is left, is often broken or covered in dust. The floor might be strewn with old newspapers, broken glass, or other rubbish. The air is usually stale, and there might be a musty smell. Sometimes, you might find old photos or letters, which can give you a glimpse into the lives of the people who once lived there.

The Stories of Abandoned Houses

Every abandoned house has a story to tell. It could be a story of a family who had to move away because of a job or a story of an old person who lived alone and passed away. Sometimes, the stories are happy ones, of people who moved to a better place or found a new start. Other times, the stories can be sad or even scary. But each story is a piece of history, a slice of life that once was.

That’s it! I hope the essay helped you.

If you’re looking for more, here are essays on other interesting topics:

Happy studying!

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment.

The Abandoned House

by Mario Levrero, recommended by Asymptote

AN INTRODUCTION BY LEE YEW LEONG

Sensuously reconstructed by Frances Riddle, Mario Levrero’s “The Abandoned House” pays tribute to the power of fiction. A former cruciverbalist and one-time “Best Untranslated Writer” according to Granta , the Uruguayan author wrote in order to “bring (his) brain to life and discover its secret passageways.” In this breathtaking short story, an abandoned house and its many secrets come alive for us via a masterfully detached narration rich in cinematic techniques (think point-of-view switches, match cuts) and truly bizarre flourishes. No ordinary house, Levrero’s fictional abode is one where little men “shimmy their bodies” out of pipes and little women, summoned by a faucet, climb up onto a plastic soap dish and “stretch out as if they were sunbathing.” A naked girl is discovered in the garden, her chest punctured by a unicorn during its annual visitation. An accountant, traumatized by a spider, disappears from his coat’s interior, the article of clothing hovering for an instant in the air, empty a la Magritte.

In a note accompanying the original publication in Asymptote (also Levrero’s debut in English), translator Frances Riddle states that Levrero’s writing has been labeled fantastical, delirious, bold, bizarre. His influences ranged from Kafka to Carroll to sci-fi, pulp fiction, surrealism, and psychoanalysis. Slippery and uncategorizable, read only by a small group of initiated readers when he was alive, Levrero once said: “I am the subject of my writing. I write to write myself; it’s an auto-construction.” In “The Abandoned House,” as the house’s select group of “fans” gather round to inspect the engineering marvel created by an ant, the last line of the story expresses Levrero’s philosophy on writing: “Everyone takes out magnifying glasses; they focus in on the details, applauding the complexity of the work and the symmetry of the sticks. I prefer to look at the structure as a whole. I think that it’s beautiful and that its shape resembles, in a way, an ant.”

Although it was written more than fifty years ago, Levrero’s story still feels very much relevant and alive, its form and poetics anticipating another gem from Electric Literature’s Recommended Reading, Steven Millhauser’s “Cathay.” “The Abandoned House” is finally a stark reminder that many treasures still await discovery in the greater canon of letters that is world literature.

Lee Yew Leong Editor-in-Chief, Asymptote

Mario Levrero

Share article.

On a downtown street lined with modern buildings, we find an old, abandoned house. The front garden contains a white fountain decorated with angels. It’s separated from the sidewalk by a wrought-iron fence: a succession of rusted spears joined by two horizontal bars. The faded pink exterior is covered in dirt and greenish grime. The windows are hidden behind dark shutters. This unassuming house holds great interest for the few people, myself among them, who know its secrets and have fallen under its influence.

A piece of pipe sticks out a few centimeters from the wall in one of the rooms. With luck or patience you may be able to see the little men, around eleven centimeters tall, peek their tiny heads out of the pipe. They observe for a moment, like someone seeing the open ocean for the first time through a ship’s porthole. Then they begin to extract themselves from the pipe, with some difficulty. They must first lie face up, grab onto the top edge of the pipe, and use their arms and legs to shimmy their bodies out.

A little man hangs from the edge of the pipe. He gets nervous as he looks down and sees the huge hole in the floor directly below him. Evidently the little men’s repeated antics have damaged the already rotten floor. Soon the small round eyes of the next little man can be seen inside the pipe as he anxiously awaits his turn. He hangs on for as long as possible, then finally he takes a deep breath, as if preparing for a dive, releases his hands from the edge of the pipe, and falls and falls.

After about a second you may think that you hear something. But those accustomed to the spectacle know that you really can’t hear anything. Some imagine a soft sound, like the bounce of a rubber ball. Others, a dry crunch of bone. The more imaginative hear a small explosion (like the striking of a match, but without the subsequent flame). There are those who have talked of implosion; they think they hear the sound of a light bulb burning out. Others claim to have clearly perceived the breaking of glass.

We’ve checked the basement, but its perimeter doesn’t seem to match up exactly with the house. We haven’t found any hole in the ceiling that could correspond to the hole in the floor through which the little men disappear. We worry that there might be a growing pile of tiny cadavers somewhere and we are anxious to find it. I have my own theory, although there’s no evidence to support it. I don’t think that the little men die when they fall and also, I believe that there are just a few little men who endlessly repeat the jump from the pipe.

One of the things that seemed curious to the discoverers and first fans of the house was the absence of spiders. You have everything else you could want in an abandoned house, but the classic spiders seemed completely uninterested in such an appropriate place. This incorrect assumption was revised upon first visit to the pantry, a room attached to the kitchen. It’s full of spiders. There are all varieties of species, shapes, sizes, colors, ages, and habits. Their webs fill the entire room with a sponge-like stuffing. If you look closely you will see that there’s not a single web that respects its due distance from the web of a rival spider. It’s permitted (it seems to be an accepted norm) to use a neighboring web as the starting point for a new one.

Perfect tranquility reigns over the pantry. The bugs wait, some in the centers of their webs, others on the periphery, others scout the ceiling or walls. It’s not particularly interesting for the spectator. The biggest spiders don’t have webs but instead a kind of nest on the floor. They can only be seen on very hot days, or on certain nights, or at random times that we can’t find any explanation for. We think the spiders stay in the pantry because the conditions are extremely favorable; they seem to be opposed to leaving at all. We’ve observed some hesitating in the doorway. We’ve seen others step out, only to immediately rush back inside, as if pulled by an irresistible force or driven by panic. The group of webs is a lovely sight which becomes more beautiful with the changes in light from a small window as the day advances and dies. The humidity of the room affects the beauty of the webs, as does the mood of the spectator, and other inconceivable factors.

An insect falls into one of the many traps: everything vibrates. Sometimes we release flies from jars to initiate the spectacle, but in general we prefer to wait for the conditions to emerge by chance. First there’s a slight buzzing, almost imperceptible, produced by the insect in the web. The bug becomes more and more anxious and its attempts to free itself are increasingly violent. The movement is transmitted through the system of webs. A rhythmic motion radiates outward and then returns: it’s like throwing a rock into a pond but observing the effect in three dimensions.

The spiders react: first the owner of the web that has trapped the insect approaches the victim and begins the usual routine. The neighboring spiders watch closely. This quick and delicate movement, this chore, produces a pronounced effect in the group of webs. All the other spiders, who have felt their webs vibrate but haven’t located the victim, begin to search frantically, peering into other webs, furious when they find nothing there. Then the show really gets good. We are spellbound, in a kind of trance. Some of us dance (because there is a rhythm, increasingly insane), others cover their eyes because they can’t take it. I have personally had to stop someone who, hypnotized, tried to enter the pantry. I found out they committed suicide a while later, at night, in the sea. I’ve said that it’s hard for the spiders to leave the pantry and that they never go very far or for very long. There are exceptions, which we’ll see later.

We discovered by accident that underneath the pink wallpaper in the bedroom, there was another wallpaper pattern. Immediately a team formed, led by Ramirez. Over several nights of careful work the pink was totally removed and the next layer was exposed: greens predominate. It’s a beautiful rural landscape, impressively realistic: we can almost smell the fresh country air. The damaged parts of the wallpaper were expertly restored by Alfredo. He’s a quiet guy with a mustache and we didn’t suspect that he had any talent whatsoever.

Influenced by the uncovered wallpaper we felt the need to organize Sunday picnics. We got up early and brought baskets and folding chairs. Juancito, who works at a grocery store, got us a Coca-Cola ice chest. There was red wine, a battery-powered record player, kids with nets to catch butterflies, butterflies — provided by an entomologist friend on the condition that they be returned unharmed — brightly-colored dresses, couples, ants, a few small spiders (that we took from the pantry for a little while) and other things.

The main attraction was one of Chueco’s inventions. He’s a construction worker in his free time and was able to build us a gas grill that miraculously eliminates smoke. Although it serves no practical purpose, the tree that Alfredo fashioned from a synthetic material was also highly praised. I sat on the floor, in a corner, drinking mate . I don’t like picnics, but the show entertained me.

Something pulses, something grows in the attic.

It’s suspected to be green, it’s feared to have eyes.

It’s presumed to be strong, soft, translucent, evil.

We can’t, we shouldn’t, we mustn’t look at it.

To speak of it we use only adjectives and we don’t make eye contact.

We don’t climb the creaky stairway; we don’t stop to listen at the door; we don’t turn the doorknob; we don’t enter the attic.

LITTLE WOMEN

To see the little men that jump from the pipe we have to wait and wait. On the other hand, all we have to do is fill up the bathroom sink with warm water, turn on the faucet, and in under a minute the little women start to flow out. They are very small and they are naked. They don’t cover themselves when they see us. They swim freely, play in the water. They climb up onto the plastic soap dish that we’ve placed there and they stretch out as if they were sunbathing. They are beautiful without exception; their bodies are magnificent and exciting. They dive into the water and swim and splash and climb back up on the soap dish to stretch out.

When they get bored they work together to pull up the sink stopper and they let themselves slide down the drain. There’s one with green eyes that’s always the last to go. She looks at me, almost with regret, before she plunges down the drain.

AN EXCEPTION

One afternoon we had been investigating the superimposed wallpapering in the big bedroom. It was Ramirez, accountant at a fairly important factory, who was able to make out the fifth layer. He correctly deduced the total number of layers, as we proved later upon uncovering five square centimeters of wallpaper. I won’t go into detail on the last layer (let me remind you that there are ladies among us) but I can assure you that it was an erotic scene, practically pornographic. This discovery leads us to believe that the abandoned house once functioned as a brothel.

On his way home that evening an elderly woman ran behind Ramirez for quite a while. She eventually caught up with him and explained, panting and upset, that he had a huge black spider on the back of his jacket, almost five centimeters in diameter. We phoned him repeatedly to invite him to the abandoned house but Ramirez made up excuses not to come. Finally, he explained what had happened and we understood. He says that when the old lady told him about the spider, he didn’t have the wherewithal to take off his jacket. He simply fled from the coat’s interior and the article of clothing hovered for an instant in the air, empty. Ramirez claims that a half block away he heard the soft sound that his jacket made when it fell heavily to the ground.

Much of what attracts me to the house is its serene and diligent collapse. I measure the cracks and confirm their advance. The blackish borders of the water stains extend. Pieces of plaster come loose from the walls and ceiling, and the entire structure has a slight, almost imperceptible, leftward slant. It is an inevitable and beautiful collapse.

We can’t come to an agreement on the size of the garden. We do agree that viewed from the street, or from the path that leads to the house, it appears to be about eighty square meters (8m x 10m). The trouble begins from the moment we step in among its weeds, its ivies, its flowerless plants, its insects, the lines of ants, the vines and giant ferns, the rays of sun that filter through the canopy of the tall eucalyptus trees, the bear tracks, the chatter of the parrots, the snakes coiled around the branches that raise their heads and whistle when we pass, the unbearable heat, the thirst, the darkness, the roar of the leopards, the falls of the machete that clears the way, the tall boots we wear, the humidity, our helmets, the luxurious vegetation, the night, the fear, the fact that we can’t find the way out, the fact that we can’t find the way out.

None of us are able to shake the suspicion that the house must hold an old and fabulous treasure, composed of precious stones and heavy gold coins. There are no maps, nor clues of any kind. I count myself among the most skeptical, although I have often allowed myself to daydream and I even imagine clever unsuspected corners where the treasure might be hidden. The fact that I don’t participate in the official treasure hunts sets me apart from the rest. I don’t even search when I’m alone (as I know many do).

I thoroughly enjoy these hunts. I lie in a lounge chair that I bring from my house especially for the occasion and I place it in an appropriate location, generally in the main living room. I watch, drinking mate and smoking cigarettes, as they spread out methodically — the women through the house, the men in the basement — and they search. The ladies in their happy dresses rummage in the rubble or dig inside the furniture coverings. I smile when I see them search the pieces of furniture that they know we brought in ourselves to feed the hurricanes. The men, in their blue uniforms, tap the walls of the basement looking for a sound that is hollow or different. But all the sounds are hollow, and different from one another. The tapping makes music; it reminds me of the sounds made from bottles filled with different levels of liquid. Soon it seems that everything fits together and the music becomes rhythmic and the women go up and down and it looks like they’re dancing and I think again of the musical bottles, now containing liquors of all different colors, all transparent and sweet.

It had to be a woman, Leonor, that neurotic old maid, who turned on the taps of the bidet. I don’t know why she joined our group (she’s afraid of the house). Everyone knows that there is no running water and that it’s dangerous to go around turning on faucets without warning. The little women come out of the sink. And then there’s the rubbery yellow thing in the bathtub. It blows up like a balloon and doesn’t stop getting bigger until you turn off the faucet. Then it comes loose and floats around us for a little while. Then it rises up and sticks to the ceiling and stays there until one day we come in and it’s gone. If you flush the toilet, by pulling the long chain with a wooden handle, you hear a tremendous, hair-raising scream. It’s so loud we worry about complaints from the neighbors.

We heard a scream and we confused it with the shriek of the toilet but no, it was Leonor, running and pointing toward the bathroom. We followed her and discovered a long thin earthworm crawling out of the bidet. More and more of the earthworm kept appearing; it seemed to go on forever. It was already a meter and a half long, easily. We waited to see when it would end but it kept getting longer and longer as it dragged itself across the floor, heading towards the other rooms.

We cut it into pieces but each new section remained fully alive; the new earthworms escaped in all directions. We had to sweep them up and throw them down the drain. The first worm kept coming out and soon new black spots began to peek out from other holes. We tried to turn off the faucet but it was stuck. No one was brave enough to change the washer, let alone call a plumber. We began to think that we’d have no other choice but to close up the bathroom and be forever deprived of the spectacular little women. Leonor was accused of having done it on purpose. Finally, someone had the idea (and the courage) to force each of the earthworm heads into the drain of the bidet itself. This seemed fine with the earthworms. They continued to crawl in and out of the bidet. They’re still at it now, a continuous and never-ending movement. Someone who doesn’t know the story of the bidet would look at it and see a strange horizontal rain of shiny black water.

There’s a shake of ashes and cigarette butts in the dining room fireplace. Then it’s best to leave, or lock yourself in the bedroom, or as a last resort, stay pressed into the corner with your head between your knees and your hands over your head.

Dirt, papers, objects begin to twirl slowly in the center of the room like autumn leaves. There is a brusque drop in temperature and the wind blows harder. Then everything lifts into the air and swirls towards the center. The furniture is pulled in and the walls shake, loosening the flakes of plaster. The dirt suffocates us and irritates our eyes and makes us thirsty. If the hurricane catches you by surprise you could become trapped in its funnel, twirling round and round, sometimes spit out against a wall, violently, only to bounce back to the center again and again until you die and even after you’re dead.

Once calm is restored, I leave the corner and I walk amongst the rubble, the broken vases, the overturned furniture. Everything is beautifully out of place. The dining room seems exhausted, as if after a fit of vomiting. It seems to breathe easier.

THE UNICORN

We think the grass attracts it but we’re not sure and our theories don’t have the slightest scientific basis. But it’s interesting to observe some facts. We have classified the grass (a job carried out by Angel, the vegetarian) as a variety of St. Augustine called Martynia louisiana, native to North America. It seems to grow only in this garden. It has large flowers, yellow with purple spots. It bears fruit once a year: a pointed capsule shaped like a horn. Hence its popular name, Unicorn Plant, and from there, according to us, the annual visit of the animal to our garden. Despite patient vigilance we’ve never actually seen it. But we have noticed the grass cut by teeth. We’ve discovered holes in the dirt, as if produced by the twisted point of an umbrella in the elevated bank of a mud puddle. We’ve seen hoof prints; we’ve found fresh manure. One night the sound of a soft whinny reached us. The next morning we found Luisa. She was sixteen years old and had joined our group only days prior. Her chest was punctured by an enormous uni-hole; she was naked, monstrously raped.

You are a door-to-door salesman. You peddle books or memberships to medical societies. You knock on all the doors. You try to get into all the houses. It’s late afternoon. You see a wrought-iron fence and you hesitate for an instant. But you are determined, and an unkempt garden does not dissuade you. You push open the gate. You walk up the path that divides the garden in two; you stop directly in front of the door and you look for the doorbell. You don’t find it, but you see a bronze doorknocker. It’s shaped like a hand, with long thin fingers. There’s a ring on the largest finger and the index finger is missing two phalanges. The finger did not break but was intentionally designed this way. You pause. But you remember your lessons from salesman school, and some previous experience of your own, and you pluck up your courage. You lift the knocker, making it turn on its hinge, and you let it fall: one, two, three times against its base, also bronze. The sound booms through the house.

You are confused. We know all too well from our sad experiments that the knocker causes many strange sounds to echo through the house. You will inevitably think you hear a dry, hoarse voice. It insists that you open the door and come in. Your confusion lasts a few seconds but in the end your hope gets the better of you and you make the grave mistake.

When we arrive we find only your briefcase, on a chair, or on the floor. We don’t need to open it to determine your line of work. We gather in the dining room for a moment of silence. Someone invariably sheds a tear. Someone always suggests that we report the case to the authorities. We convince them that we would gain nothing and we would surely lose the house. Then someone pipes up to suggest that we hang a warning sign on the front door. The older members of the group have to explain, once again, that this only increases the number of victims and that sooner or later the string of curious idiots will get us kicked out of the house.

We finally agree that these incidents are regrettable but we can do nothing to prevent them. Tired of the sorrow, guilty consciences, and useless arguing, we decide to take the issue a little more lightly. After all, we agree, there are too many door-to-door salesmen in the world anyway. Later, someone takes your briefcase and throws it unceremoniously into the well in the back yard.

In the garden there is, of course, a variety of ants. Periodically, we’re pleased to find a new ant bed where we plant a red flag. We’ve noticed that the ants march along the cracks towards a location under the house, in the foundation. We think this contributes to the slow collapse.

We take care of the most important plants, pruning them and giving the discarded leaves to the ants. The philosopher objects. He says that we are contributing to the weakening of the species by making their tasks easier and gradually reducing their capacity for work. There is one lady who thinks we should simply exterminate them with ant poison but we know this method doesn’t work.

What happens in the house is different. The few ants that live inside don’t seem to have any work to do. They wander around lost in thought, half-heartedly pacing a wall or floorboard. We’ve discovered that they live alone, in some isolated crack or corner, and they feed on small things that they find. We’ve never seen them gathering or storing food. Occasionally they are spotted in pairs, but the relationships appear to be unstable.

There’s one ant that we identify by a little bit of white paint on her backside. She spends several days gathering sticks and other small objects, never once stopping to rest as she completes her construction. We don’t know what it is but it’s not a nest and does not appear to serve any practical purpose for the ant. She crawls all over it in ecstasy for a while, then she forgets about it and returns to her contemplative state. If by accident or clumsiness the structure is destroyed, even partially, the ant becomes infuriated and walks around crazed for hours.

Archie, the engineer, who has done a detailed study of the ant’s construction, concludes that it’s a major feat of engineering. He says that it would be impossible to complete such a project without advanced knowledge of mathematics. He has taken some notes which he thinks will revolutionize modern bridge-building techniques. He believes that the ant is acting out of instinct, building bridges where they’re not needed.

I don’t think they’re bridges. I have my own ideas on the matter. Everyone takes out magnifying glasses; they focus in on the details, applauding the complexity of the work and the symmetry of the sticks. I prefer to look at the structure as a whole. I think that it’s beautiful and that its shape reflects, in a way, an ant.

Take a break from the news

We publish your favorite authors—even the ones you haven't read yet. Get new fiction, essays, and poetry delivered to your inbox.

YOUR INBOX IS LIT

Enjoy strange, diverting work from The Commuter on Mondays, absorbing fiction from Recommended Reading on Wednesdays, and a roundup of our best work of the week on Fridays. Personalize your subscription preferences here.

ARTICLE CONTINUES AFTER ADVERTISEMENT

Recommended Reading

Short stories and novel excerpts by the most dynamic voices in contemporary literature delivered to your inbox every wednesday..

Here’s What the Obamas are Reading Over the Holidays

Dec 1 - julia johanne tolo read, more like this.

7 Genre-Smashing Horror Novels in Translation

Zachary C. Solomon recommends literature that defies easy categorization and pushes against the parameters of form

Apr 19 - Zachary C. Solomon

When Reality is More Terrifying Than Cursed Bunnies

Bora Chung uses the fantastic to examine the absurdity of misogyny and society’s injustices in her short story collection

Dec 28 - Jaeyeon Yoo

If On a Country Road a Car Crash

"The Frozen Finger" by Bora Chung, recommended by Anton Hur

Dec 14 - Bora Chung

DON’T MISS OUT

Sign up for our newsletter to get submission announcements and stay on top of our best work.

Search for creative inspiration

19,908 quotes, descriptions and writing prompts, 4,965 themes

abandoned house - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing

• a haunted house
• a spooky house
• abandoned building
• abandoned mine
• abandoned playground
• Abandoned swing
• abandoned theme park
• abandoned tunnel
• an abandoned city
• an abandoned street
• Derelict building
• derelict shop
• entering a house
• exterior of a modern house
• halloween desserts
• haunted building
• house of horrors
• refurbished
• shattered window
• viewing a house
• witch's home

"Come abandoned house," sang the birds with gaity that outshone even the summer blooms, "come and see we have made the perfect place for you!"

That abandoned house was a comeback story in the making. Perhaps there was a time when I passed it, expecting it to tumble, no more. After each round of weathering it remains resolute. The storms swirl around and it stands. And so instead of seeing its cracks as faults, I see its face blowing raspberries to the world. "I'm still here. I'm still here. I'm still here... Ha ha ha!" And so I bought it. I am it's co-conspirator in survival. Me and it. It and me. Onwards.

Abandoned house I reclaim you as your mother, for spirits can do such things. With me you are reborn, you will live and breath again. What was old will be renewed as humans heal and your outer hue will glow with the warmth of this bonny self confident love. When we are done, trust me, they will come, for all love a well and strong house to call home.

In that house I had abandoned, not for want of love, yet because I was driven to do so, my footsteps echoed once more. And in my absence the house had become more grand, as if it had begun to self-renovate. I spent that day exfoliating the walls, enhancing the beauty of that old place and marvelled at how it had grown so much in such a short time. In the place where it had once been old floor boards was a swimming pool, clear blue waters calm and still. I had returned at last.

The abandoned house held onto happy memories in its floorboards and walls, for there they were safe and brought warmth upon even the most wintry of days.

The abandoned house had learned to sing with the wind and lean into the sunshine, to let the birdsong echo within and appreciate the rhythm of quenching rain.

The abandoned house learned to stand taller, growing toward the sunshine as a tree after a storm might.

The abandoned house, after so much quiet and reflective time, had discovered the company of the trees and wildflowers that brought brightness right up to its doors and windows.

The spirit of the house had rescued itself by sleeping in the walls, by retreating into the welcoming wood away from the dust. It stayed there with the memories of its birth, of the hugs and laughter that once were its colours and music, for that is the way of spirits. So though the floors were bare and the paint was in need of loving care, though the furniture lay still without the warmth of its family, it stood all the same, strong beneath the flakes and dirt of years.

The house had become aware of itself, of the history that echoed within the walls. Somewhere within, mixed with the pain, were images of soft flowers. Yet, if inside felt stagnant, just as a river, it simply needed to flow. And so one day, after time unmeasured, the house opened each door and window. It shivered at first, for the wind felt cold and it was used to the dust and the odour of nothing. It was about to close, to find a way to love the isolation, to become one with the rats who crawled and the sticky spider webs, when in came the fragrance of soft flowers. The house shivered again, but in a different way, this time there was a small fragment of warmth, a tiny brave smile in the walls. There were days that old house did shut every door and window, times darkly shrunken from the world, hoping to be invisible. Yet, as the seasons changed, as Earth circled the sun, the doors and windows opened all the more. They say that the pain blew right out of that house a little at a time and the nature that house craved entered a little at time - the birdsong, blossom and sunshine.

The abandoned house stood in a composed way, as if it had chosen solitude for itself, as if residents were a luxury it could forgo. The floors had been a highly polished parquet, individual blocks lovingly placed and sanded to a smooth finish before the varnish was brushed on with fine bristles. The walls stood firm, the window frames strong, glass triple glazed and whole. All in all, it looked like a movie-set, a place waiting for life to come. The only give-away was the odour, well, that and the dust. It was musty and dry, but nothing opening the doors and windows couldn't solve. A spring clean, some fresh flowers, perhaps the house would enjoy the luxury of company.

The brightly painted door is half off its hinges, it's still shiny knocker dangling with gravity. The path is still perfect brickwork, the mortar holding back the weeds that have overtaken the neighbouring paths with ease. Usually that's a bad sign, if someone's taking care of the place I'm not going in. But the path like everything else about the house reeks of recent renovation. Nobody's been here in a while I'll bet, not for some weeks or more. So this time I'll let the kid pick the house, likely it's as good as any other. For some reason he's squirming so badly I can barely hold him. So once inside I let him down. If there was anyone here they'd have heard him and either come out fighting or else fled already...

Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft , authored by daisy .

The steps are old, unvarnished and slippery with the recent rain. I grab the rail with my free hand and we move up gingerly, and for the most part in silence. I take a stone and cast it through the broke window, if anyone's in there they'll startle. Nothing. Guess it's empty after all. I push on the door expecting it to swing open but it doesn't. Lucky for me Dad had us picking locks before we could pick our own noses. I take out a hair pin and a credit card and the door still doesn't move. Bolted from the inside. Now that is interesting, hence the broken windows I'll bet. Despite the kiddie carrier out front I'm gonna leave this one. Bolts drawn home from the inside don't bode well and I'm hardly in the best condition to fight with Darwin on my hip.

Sign in or sign up for Descriptionar i

Sign up for descriptionar i, recover your descriptionar i password.

Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari

We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.

Decaying House: Student’s Descriptive Writing Piece + Teacher Feedback

Below, you’ll find a descriptive writing piece, plus my feedback about it which was written by a GCSE student.

Many of the creative writing and descriptive writing questions in exams require you to focus on an object, person, place or thing. In this mini-lesson, I’ll go through the basics of how to describe a place in detail – and not just in a boring way!

Lots of my students get stuck on descriptions; they tell me that they can’t think of anything to write. Or they feel like they can only just list details or features of the object without being ‘creative’. So, if this is relatable for you then keep reading as we’ll be breaking down how to go beyond basic descriptions and transform them into something personal, powerful and meaningful.

Descriptive Writing: What is it and How to do it

Thanks for reading! If you find this useful, take a look at our full  Basic Descriptive Writing  and  Advanced Descriptive Writing  courses.

Decaying House: Descriptive Writing Essay

The house, rather old and shabby, as Katherine would describe. The glass windows were broken and shattered across the floor board like an explosion. The floor board squeaked and cracked as a step is taken. Dust fell from the roof and danced like a ballerina in the air.

As the days passed the rooms began to look like a jungle. Bugs crawled on the remains on the bed. Drawers now filled with moss and bugs and plants began to coil around the legs of tables and chairs. Plants grew into communities and more came as time passed by. Bugs gave birth to more bugs, they are like kings, ruling over the room. Across the hall is another room, but there were no other plants except lavender, and no other bugs than bees.

The trees surrounding the old house grew every few millimetres a day, the plants has grown onto the porch of the house and the road leading the way toward the mystery of the world. Moss has grown onto the walls of the house. The dampness inside of the house made a disgusting smell, as if it could kill someone instantly, but is was different before it was abandoned.

Summer came and went. The house grew old and would one day become plain wood again. Leaves fell and grown, the trees, too, would one day be gone and used as something else. Something that is un-useful to the world. The trees surrounding the house protected it from rain and wind. The house still stood like a soldier, even when it knows that it won’t live long.

FEEDBACK : 

I love your imagery and details in this piece, you have an imaginative mind and the concept of a decayed house is really well executed – you have excellent use of techniques and clear organised paragraphs that progress the imagery forwards. Each paragraph also signifies a clear shift or change in a focal point. The sense of the house being personified as an entity is also excellent! To improve, here are a few tips: 

• You have  a shift in tense between past and present – try to stick to one tense the whole way through be very specific with imagery, for example instead of saying ‘disgusting smell’, try to describe the smell in detail – is it like rancid milk, or rotting grey meat? Is it the sickly smell of decaying flowers that have sat too long in stagnated water? Go through your memory of terrible smells and find something that fits there! 
• Try to execute a tonal shift somewhere – go from one clear mood or tone to another in one of the paragraphs 
• Develop a greater control over punctuation, using more experimental pieces of punctuation such as colons, speech marks and semicolons.

Great work!

Thanks for reading! If you found this useful, take a look at our full  Basic Descriptive Writing  and  Advanced Descriptive Writing  courses, as well as other  English Language and Literature  courses.

Related Posts

The Theme of Morality in To Kill A Mockingbird

Unseen Poetry Exam Practice – Spring

To Kill A Mockingbird Essay Writing – PEE Breakdown

Unseen Poetry Exam Practice: The Man He Killed

How to Get Started with Narrative Writing

What do I need to do for AQA Language Paper 2?

How to do well in the AQA GCSE Paper 2 Exam!

How to Write a Perfect Essay on The Crucible by Arthur Miller

AQA Power and Conflict: Example A* / L9 Grade Paragraph

Descriptive Writing: The train

© Copyright Scrbbly 2022

Abandoned House: A Short Story by Yamini

If you were around in April, you’ll have seen that I took part in the A-Z Challenge and my theme was character prompts. I said in those posts that I would love to see some of the stories the prompts inspired in people.

Today I am sharing a story from the “A” prompt, Abandoned House . The story was written by the fab Yamini from Doses of Wild . Enjoy her story.

Abandoned House by Yamini

Tenby sniffed hard as he leaned through the window. The glass broken long ago, it formed a jagged black hole in the already dark afternoon. Other than damp, he was surprised at the lack of odour. The place was at least a hundred years old and he’d expected something more. There was a sound from behind the door on the wall opposite the window.

He froze. Instinct kicked in and it was astonishing how loud his heart beat now, and how the blood rushed in his ears. Stock still, he waited, but no further sound. Shaking off the sense of creep which had come over him, he walked round to the front door.

Pulling out the key, the realtor entered the house officially. This was going to need some creative description for sale.

“Doer-upper for the young and healthy. Bottomless pockets an advantage.”

Tenby grinned at his own wit. The strange sound from earlier came to his ears again. His breath almost stopped, he closed his eyes – he had no idea why – oh yes, it was to hear better. Nothing more in the next few minutes.

What had it been? A cat, an injured dog? Walking towards what he took to be the kitchen, the floorboards gave way beneath him, causing him to tumble into the deep cellar and crack his head. Seconds before he died, he saw the remains of many others… And the drooling dragon…

Did you enjoy the story? Share your thoughts in the comments 🙂

You can find me here: Twitter   Facebook Bloglovin Pinterest and Instagram Please do stop by and say hi!

20 Comments

May 10, 2018 at 1:17 am

Hari OM Oh Debbie, despite having the calendar marked, I managed to forget about this! Have linked it up with my next post over at Wild YAM bloggy – thanks again for the opportunity of indulging my imagination for 26 days straight… even if it failed me on a few occasions! YAM xx

May 10, 2018 at 12:10 pm

No worries! It’s been great reading your interpretations of the prompts x

May 10, 2018 at 8:02 pm

I always enjoy YAM-Aunty’s writings so creative and they give me great images for my mind’s eye. I really liked this line “Doer-upper for the young and healthy. Bottomless pockets an advantage.” Cecilia

May 11, 2018 at 2:02 am

Haha yes, it’s a fab line!

May 10, 2018 at 8:26 pm

Crikey! Great atmosphere. I knew it might not end well for him. And I wonder whether he died from the injury or the dragon – maybe the former is slightly preferable.

I missed A-Z, but what a great idea to share prompts. Odd as it seems, I can’t remember that being done before.

May 10, 2018 at 8:35 pm

Hari OM Thanks Nick – yes, the banged head was his end… well surmised! I really enjoyed Debbie’s prompts – do have a read back through them if you have the time! Yxx

I loved the story (and all the others too)

May 14, 2018 at 4:57 am

I hope he died in the fall, death by dragon sounds unpleasant. #AnythingGoes

May 14, 2018 at 7:59 am

I hate that ‘sense of creep’. A great phrase xx

May 14, 2018 at 9:18 am

Love then twist in the tail and the gory end! #anythinggoes

May 14, 2018 at 1:23 pm

This read really well. I love the accomplishment of a great short story; having to build suspense and nail the ending. This one was great! #anythinggoes

May 14, 2018 at 2:04 pm

A drooling dragon! What next? Does he make it out alive? #anythinggoes

May 14, 2018 at 9:44 pm

Really good writing and aren’t short stories wonderful for those who find it tough to carve out time to read #AnythingGoes

May 14, 2018 at 11:55 pm

They really are!

May 15, 2018 at 6:49 am

A drooling dragon, Oh I did not see that coming! #AnythingGoes

May 15, 2018 at 10:52 am

Oh dear! The others! Cheeky dragon! #Anythinggoes

May 16, 2018 at 10:26 am

I did not expect the Dragon!! So intrigued now! #Anythinggoes

May 16, 2018 at 11:51 am

Ooh a drooling dragon. I love it. The sense of suspense is wonderful. It reminds me of Rayne Hall’s short stories. #BloggerClubUK

May 16, 2018 at 11:53 am

I like it when it’s not just the author’s imagination but there is still room for a bit of our own.

May 23, 2018 at 7:22 am

How fab that you have inspired others to write. I love the twist in this! #bloggerclubuk

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed .

IGCSE Descriptive Essay - The Abandoned house

Describe what happens and how you feel as you make your journey to shelter..

Holt  Educational Consultant - / 15202   Jan 10, 2021   #2 In the description of the sky, you said it was naked right? So how a naked sky have roaring eyes crawling about? If the sky is naked, then it cannot have crawling eyes. That is a contradictory description that does help me create a mental image of what you are saying. Yes, you can be exaggerated int he description, but you have to be realistic. The description should help create the mental image. So if the sky was naked, then it could have shots of bluish light flashing across it, since you are describing an oncoming storm Naked sky + shooting lights = imagery Lividness is not a word that can be found in the dictionary. You made up a word back there that again, does not help in creating an image. You could instead have written "lividity", which can describe anger as the wind rips the branches off. Remember, word accuracy counts. If you make it up or it doesn't have an actual meaning, it will not help your description as the reader will not be able to create a mental image for it. Torrential rain is more apt than torrential wind as a descriptive word in this presentation. It is difficult to imagine you being sweaty in the middle of the rainstorm you are describing. You have to keep with the image you are building. You are not sweating, you should be shivering in the cold with your skin hairs standing on end. Gusts of wind are what occur not gushes. Look, I am ending up having to give you a vocabulary lesson in this case, I should not be rewriting this essay for you. All this exercise proves is that you are not good at descriptive essay writing because you do not have enough of a vocabulary to create mental images with in written form. You have to read more fictional English books and take note of how the writers describe their scenes. That will teach you vocabulary and proper scene set up writing. You should also read more English based comic books as these are always using descriptive words in their dialogues. That type of reading will definitely help you develop better imagery skills in written form. As of now, you have made a good effort, but you are far from achieving your goal at the moment.

Abandoned House Essay Example

• Pages: 2 (512 words)
• Published: January 2, 2017
• Type: Essay

Walking up the sidewalk to the damaged red door before me, the sound of soft thunder lingered around me. It was cold, like at the end of the spring after the frost. I slowed my pace just enough to rethink my adventure I was about to proceed, but still carried on. I was about to enter the realm of an abandoned house left many years ago, and discover what secrets might be held inside. Before entering, I took a good observation of the outside. Vines had clung itself to the outer walls of the house, while the top floor window looked as if a baseball had been thrown through it.

The roof was tattered, and a whole was present beside the chimney large enough for the neighborhood birds to nest. Around the house was unk

empt undergrowth as if the house had grown up from the very earth. Although I took into measurement of what I had seen, it was what I hadn’t seen that bothered me the most. The house seemed secluded, therefore no neighborhood children were found playing ball in the streets, and any sign of life for the matter could not be found. I then leaned into the big red door, hearing it screech as it opened.

Inside the foreboding house was dark, and the only light reflecting inside was from the ray of sunshine making its way through the moth eaten curtains. The house felt unnaturally still, and the only sound I could hear were my own breathing, and the creak beneath my feet with each and every step. The walls were stained with black and gray streaks

showing the mold from damp nights had seeped through. The wood floors were in damageable shape, with the assumption that termites had done their job.

As I walked down the wide mpty hallway, flaking speckles of paint lined the floor and the stain from where furniture was once placed was noticeable from the discoloration in the wood flooring. A rank odor lingered with no visible source, and as I gained distance into the depths of the house, I felt the palpable sense of my own fear. There was no furniture in the house besides for one lonely chair off to the corner of what I believed to be the living room. It was an antique dust collector, with an aged floral print that would be familiar with older generations.

As I looked on, my fear began to cease, and I was more sorrowful than afraid any longer. Within the kitchen, there was a window platform that contained an old abundance of pots with soil still contained in them. Dead sticks showed sign of a once mass production of fruits and vegetables. All of the cabinets were empty except for the one above the sink, where numerous canning jars full of expired tomato sauce and such recipes were present. I found this sad because of what I once thought was a terrible frightening place is now looked at as a house that was treated with love, and now all is lost.

• Prefabricated House Essay Example
• My Dream House Conclusion Essay Example
• Domus Aurea, Golden House Of N Essay Example
• Classification of Bricks Essay Example
• Analysing Villa Savoye Essay Example
• The Lamppost Essay Example
• Show How a Proportional System Might Be Used in Deconstruction Essay Example
• Church of the Sagrada Familia Essay Example
• Italian Gothic Architecture Essay Example
• A White Garment of Churches – Summary Essay Example
• Fallingwater and Villa Savoye: A Comparison/Contrast Essay Example
• Frank Lloyd Wright Essay Example
• Vitruvius Human Scale Influences Generations Essay Example
• Lo and Behold, the Palazzo Rucellai Essay Example
• Kampung Singai culture and history Essay Example
• Arch essays
• Area essays
• Building essays
• Cleaning essays
• Architecture essays
• Design essays
• Graffiti essays
• Graphic essays
• Interior design essays
• Painting essays
• Photography essays
• Sculpture essays
• Typography essays
• Automotive essays
• Automotive Industry essays
• Commerce essays
• Construction essays
• E Commerce essays
• Grocery stores essays
• Paper Industry essays
• Pharmaceutical industry essays
• Pharmacy essays
• Polymers essays
• Real Estate essays
• Textile Industry essays
• Adaptation essays
• Adventure essays
• Adversity essays
• Aging essays
• Alcohol essays
• Barbie Doll essays
• Beauty essays
• Care essays
• Carpe diem essays
• Change essays
• Chess essays
• Chicken essays
• Choices essays
• Contrast essays
• Crops essays
• Development essays
• Dream essays
• Evil essays
• Experience essays
• Family essays
• Farm essays
• Fire essays
• First Love essays
• Focus essays
• Greed essays

Haven't found what you were looking for?

Search for samples, answers to your questions and flashcards.

• Enter your topic/question
• Receive an explanation
• Ask one question at a time
• Enter a specific assignment topic
• Aim at least 500 characters
• a topic sentence that states the main or controlling idea
• supporting sentences to explain and develop the point you’re making
• evidence from your reading or an example from the subject area that supports your point
• analysis of the implication/significance/impact of the evidence finished off with a critical conclusion you have drawn from the evidence.

Unfortunately copying the content is not possible

Tell us your email address and we’ll send this sample there..

By continuing, you agree to our Terms and Conditions .