High School Writings

Setting/Sensory Detail Story

The smell of wood wafts toward me as we climb up the mountain. The crunching of rocks and sticks under the car wheels is like the grinding of your teeth against the skin of an apple as you eat it. The whistling of the wind is like seeing a ghost at some haunted mansion: Scary and spooky. There is the occasional 'tink' of rocks bouncing on the car windshield. There are so many twists and turns, there's no way to keep track of where you are. Over the guardrails along the road is the bumpy sea of greens and browns that is the forest. Along the road on the opposite side of the guardrails is grey. Light and dark, cracked and jagged. Rocks and boulders stacked higher and higher, no end in sight. Small crops of grass grow, scattered throughout the area. The house is small, built into a steep side of the mountain, several stairs leading up to the main doorway. The sound of my Grandparents greeting tasted like chocolate melting in my mouth, sweet and absolutely lovely. 

The cool breezes cause me to shiver, and my face becomes numb and a shade of pink, like everyone else. I catch a whiff of burning wood, like we are out camping. As we ascend the steps, I notice the small metal targets out in the yard, worn down from all the bullets they've taken. Looking out over their deck, wood creaking under the pressure of our bodies, there is something off in the distance. Smoke. A big plume of smoke billows up into the atmosphere, created by a forest fire. The sound of sirens is distant, faded, but it's obvious where they are going. The chopped hum of a helicopter fills my ears as the vehicle flies by overhead.

Inside it's warm and cozy, like a giant fuzzy blanket is covering the house. Just a few feet ahead are the brownish tan wood stairs leading to the garage below. A small rug lays beneath my feet, covered in dirt, wood, and leaves. To the right, the living room, with wooden flooring and comfortable furniture. There is a dark brown, wooden table just across from the black fire pit. The room is lined with windows and a sliding glass door, providing us with a view of the beautiful mountains and their pure white peaks. To the left is the kitchen, small but stuffed full of food and cooking materials. The smell of something in the oven makes my stomach growl and my nostrils flare. I walk through the office, bookshelves and pictures covering one of the walls, a lone computer and old technological equipment lie on the desk against the back wall. A couch sits along the wall next to the door to the bathroom. Through the bathroom, with a shower and a sink covered with toothbrushes and medicines, I enter a bedroom. A nice comfy bed and couch lie against the walls, my artwork hanging above them. Bins full of toys and crafts litter the floor, all crowded and pushed away to make room.

My Grandparent's bedroom is dark, the shades closed and the lights off. I walk through feeling the soft rug beneath me and the dressers around me. In the hallway on the other side is a bedroom, bathroom, and laundry room. I head down to the garage to find my Grandpa, descending the stairs and maneuvering through the several rooms and workshops, smelling wood as I go. I reach the backyard, and watch him use his bow and arrow on the targets around the yard. The trees seem to tower above us, branches swaying and leaves rustling and falling, as we just sit and watch.