Scotti's Descriptive Essay: A Day At Home

There it was, lying there in the dirt. Joe thought he was supremely lucky. Not every one who went scrounging around in an old forgotten battlefield found a antique. Joe MacIntosh was a fervent Scot who worshiped his Scottish heritage. Every chance he got, he would visit a dank, crumbling castle, or scrounge around a battlefield. There was many battlefields to choose from. The Scots had had a bloody past. There was at first when the Picts came and conquered the land from the indigenous people, and then there was the Scotti from which the land got its name. Scotti. The word its self has some meaning to it. That was what the Romans called the people who they had to conquer in Britannia, but they did not know that they were conquers themselves.

Today was a Tuesday, and Tuesdays were Joe’s least favorite day of the week. But now, he has even more reasons to resent it. Today, on Tuesday, April 18, Joe woke up late. He normally has his alarm set for around 6:30 every morning, But he did not wake up that early. He woke up at 7:45, and he needed to be at work by 8. So, he was hurrying by, and forgot his dirk. Without his luck charm, he missed his buss, and was forced to walk. When he was walking, he got a call from the Scottish government that said that the CBoS had been shut down indifferently for fraud reasons. Joe was just turning around to go home, when he saw a man. Not just any man, but a man with a British police uniform on, and so he sped faster. After a few quick blocks he say an ally. Walking into it for escape, he found out that the man was following him. “Soon,” thought Joe, “I am going to have to lose him.” Just as Joe was picking up his pace, he looked back, and saw that the man had out his old fashioned service pistol. He raised his arm to his face, and that was the end of Joe MacIntosh, in a dark ally, in the capitol of the country he loved, without his lucky MacIntosh dirk. In the newspaper the next morning was an article about this