Beautifully written paragraphs from the BAs (in need of minor edits)

Beautifully written paragraphs


BA9

Hakeem sat on his porch. He was in a deep thought. He was in a really deep thought – almost a trance.. At this point he heard nothing but the wind in his ear but now has become numb inside his head; it was an everlasting sound. The smell of garbage, grass, and mud snuck into his nose and the beaming sun only made it worse. It was like this because it had rained the night before. He felt the very meager amounts of water on his chair as he sat there. But he could care less; he was in a Trans of nature consuming his very body and mind. He felt seduced by the whisper of the wind, the water’s soft but almost sensual touch on his back. He was aroused by nature’s perfume of wet grass and mud. Yet as beautiful and sexy as nature was, it seemed that she forgot to take a shower. Did nature forget to take a shower before she put on that nice smelling perfume? Hakeem figured she didn’t; her scent of garbage gave it away. But just like nature was polluted with garbage Hakeem’s thoughts were polluted by in interruption. Later he will once again escape into his trance.


BA 12
The sky resisted light and ominous winds blew through watchful clouds, as Alessandro Massimo stood perfectly balanced on top of the Torre Dei Lamberti. Alessandro gazed intently at the piazza erbe, at the merchant stands crowded on the sides of buildings that have endured the ravages of time; from the maternal protector of Verona, Alessandro plotted his conquest. He eloquently strode to the edge of the tower and flipped over the wall, strong and yet delicate gloved hands gripped the rim as legs that seemed specifically toned for scaling the wonders of architecture kept him steady. He methodologically moved down the tower, so fluid were his movements that any spectators would not have any idea at what they watched. Perfectly fitted leather boots found footholds where others would not and in mere minutes he stood on the ancient rooftops of the houses of Verona. He could smell the flustered excitement of the merchants and their wealthy consumers. Wealth they did not deserve. Wealth he would soon acquire. He stared at his piazza, the buildings were of brown and red chipped and faded brick; many of these buildings still stood from the 14th century. He knew them all too well, the structures, the footholds, the weak areas, the balconies and stairs and secret passages through each home as if he had lived in each for a separate eternity.


BA 11
Wearing his favorite blue and purple striped tie Michael kisses his sleeping wife good bye and starts the early morning car ride to work. Pulling out of his drive way he opens his mouth wide and drowns his lungs in air. The scent fine leather consume his sense of smell while the picture of his twenty two year old son pinned to his dashboard cheers him up but is quickly followed by slowly lowered eyes of disappointment. His posture is poor, his shoulder are slouched and his eye lids are open just enough to the road. He pulls into a Starbucks drive through and patiently waits for his turn to place his order for a large coffee. As Michael receives his coffee he takes of the lid off to inhale the aroma. The warm steam feels good as it makes contact with his still somewhat frozen cheeks and nose. He begins to think about the long list of things at work he has to do today and the many employees that work for him. He thinks about the cold winter day to come in Chicago and how the sky will be shrouded in overcast clouds. The conversation in his mind is annoyingly interrupted by his loud cell phone. One look to see who it is and he presses ignore. “Third time this week.” he says in his head as he puts his phone back into his pocket.


BA 0
After fastening the Velcro straps of his Teflon vest, Tommy peered over the tall building and decided that he was not close enough to inflict the pain that he desired. “I can’t hit ‘em all from right here. Fuck I think I got… a John Muhammad .223 rifle with the scope? I gotta get up on ‘em and make ‘em feel me,” Tommy thought to himself as he planned his next move. The helicopter’s presence became stronger as its force blew around the gravel layering the roof of Robert F. Wagner’s Housing Project building. “This is the NYPD. Lower your weapon and place your hands in the air. This is your first and last warning! Failure to do so will result in deadly force,” the helicopter’s intercom firmly stated in a robotic voice.

Blatantly ignoring the command to surrender, Tommy headed toward the roof’s black door, zigzagging to nearly miss a vicious storm of gunfire being hailed from the city’s black sky. Tommy’s knees buckled up and down as his tight laced sneakers slid on off the edges of the grimy steps. After anxiously stumbling down sixteen flights of stairs, Tommy began hyperventilating while feverishly in search of a place to lay low until they pulled up. Tommy crouched behind a large green metal garbage can and cocked the chamber of the AK-47. As anticipated, the screeching tires grew closer to the alley; it was a sign of relief for Tommy because he was ready. “You can’t kill what’s already dead,” Tommy sprung up and screamed as thunderous bursts of power exploded from the fiery nozzle.

BA 2
Dante laid in the ground, his back stinging. Suddenly, a voice called him. “Dante?” Dante groaned in response. “You doin it again?’ Dante groaned again. “You need to stop,” the voice said. Or you’ll get killed. It’s cutting into your work time.” Dante got up and looked into the brown eyes of a beautiful young lady. “Afternoon, Abby,” Dante said casually. “How are you this fine day?” Abby rolled her eyes. She was wearing her dark hair down. She had on dirty pants and a shirt with dark pants. Her skin was caramel. To Dante, she was the most beautiful thing on the plantation. He gazed at her, ignoring whatever she was saying. Abby finally noticed Dante was not listening. “Dante!” She exclaimed. Immediately, Dante snapped out of his daydream. “You’ll get beat to death if you keep on that scribblin.” “It’s not scribbling,” Dante retorted. “It’s art..writing. And I’m tired of all the beatins…so I’m runnin away.” Abby opened her mouth, apparently about to speak. Instead, she grabbed Dante and kissed him passionately. When it was over, Dante glared. “Not even your kisses can make me stay, Abby,” he said darkly. “If I can get people to appreciate my writins, I can change the course of life for our kind.” Abby pressed her hand to her head. She finally looked at Dante and smiled. “If that’s what you want to do…then do it,” she sighed. “Just be careful.” “I will,” Dante assured.