A Descriptive Essay: By Corey Treft

The pungent stench of burnt popcorn permeates the narrow hallway of my
apartment building.

Lime green wallpaper, like the product of a child with too many crayons and too much free time, coats the walls.

The click of the lock on my door indicates that the room is accessible and I push it open slowly, the sappy music of a soap opera filling my ears.

The room is void, the hollow shell of a place unused, and I step forward, clicking off the television and closing my blinds, shutting out the radiant light beaming in.


My world is silent and dark.

I can see dimly by the light of the microwave, but this is how I like it.

I toss my backpack into the corner, the dull thud it makes is the only signification that it landed where I wanted.

I dip my hand into a small bowl on the table near the television, the rustle of the wrappers of the Creamsaver like the faint rustle of leaves before a thunderstorm.

I unwrap it and pop it into my mouth, the “twisted berry” flavor sweet on my tongue.

I move over to my couch, flopping down on it like a lifeless doll,
stretching out a bit to relieve the growing pain in my back.

I close my eyes, savoring the flavor of the CreamSaver for a moment more before reaching over to retieve the remote from the table.

My time of silence ends abruptly as I flip the television back on and flip through the channels.

Suddenly, Superman flies through a window and lands gallantly,


a wizened woman is teaching me how to roast a chicken,


Bugs Bunny is fooling Elmer Fudd.

My eyelids slowly close.


I am drifting in a sacred world of darkness, little
colorspots dancing across my vision.

My chest rises and falls slowly.

I hear a faint “whats up doc” and then nothing.