Descriptive Essay: An Analysis Of My Number Ten

Boys that held the number ten made my heart jump, they made me get all nervous and giddy. The number ten was not my number. At the least I had a number eight. Though the number eight could do some damage. That number still could not compete with what a number ten could do. Most people, like my friends. They see a number ten and turn around. Maybe they pick at it once and then see how dangerous it is, so they never pick at it again. When I saw the number ten I had to pick at it consistently. I just had to know more about the holders of that number. They were fascinating. I held an eight over my head. It shined yellow like the middle of a hot flame. Ten’s were red of course, like the top of a flame. I’d been with a ten for two years. He was

Although now I’m at the number eight again, Eventually I’d worked my way up to a ten. Discovering that at this number, it’s almost impossible to feel feelings. “No wonder he doesn't care, it’s almost impossible” I thought. The danger I did at number ten made history. I’m not going to get into that though. I just want to talk about the number ten. For a long while I didn't go anywhere close to boys with a ten. Maybe look at them but it was too dangerous. I wouldn't even think about it. I knew I had reached number ten when I had hurt a couple of tens. I felt like an eleven. It’s a dangerous game, having too much power to know what to with. Sometimes I really did not want to play the game anymore. It was too fast for me, holding the number ten was becoming dangerous to myself, “How can I stop?”, I asked myself. Then, when everything shut down, I felt at peace. My friend Jaci’s voice budded into the story I was playing in my head “That’s why you don’t touch tens Bella” I snapped out of it. “I know how you get when You see one” she said. “The new boy? Eddy?, BIG number ten over his head,” “slow down,” I said, “ I haven't seen him