Alisha Morash
Period 3
November 2nd, 2011
Describe your neighborhood to a visitor who knows nothing about it. Include as many specific
sensory details as you can.
To a tourist, Palm Coast, Florida may appear as a frank little city with big happy families
where wild life comes out to play and worries are a thing of the past. Contrastingly however, to
us misfortunate enough to reside in such an amalgam of safe and unsafe, intrigue and disinterest,
rich and poor, Palm Coast, Florida is nothing more than a retirement community overflowing
with rebellious teenagers and parents attempting to create a brighter future than their unthinkable
dim pasts. Imagine a place where heat rises from the ground in waves as if on fire. Close your
eyes to visualize suburban houses with garish lawns which lack allure to the three hundred and
sixtieth degree. Put yourself in a place overwrought with flowers. Perhaps envision a menagerie
of bombastic animals, figurines, and other miscellaneous baubles set up in such a disgusting
manner that ornate decorate is no longer an option. Conceptualize for a moment, the sight of a
tortoise crossing the road parallel to the snakes slithering up your walkway. Conjure up in your
wildest imaginations a place where it never rains, yet periodically pours, where houses
frequently enjoy the wrath of violent thunder, and trees lay flat on their sides in direct effect of
the gentle lightening which struck during the mid-day traffic. Once you have gained perception
of these outlandish visualizations, close your eyes one final time to envision a large sign along
the never-ending interstate I-95 just passing the lower-class city of Bunnell with ginormous
letters forming the quotation, “Welcome to my Life”.
During my first weeks here, it was almost as if I were on a resort. With Palm Trees lining
every street, how could I not be instantly in love? The beach being a minor ten minutes past the
city, where seagulls circle the luke warm salt-water frightening small children whilst
simultaneously dropping their business from ten feet overhead into the packed lunches of
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Alisha Morash
Period 3
November 2nd, 2011
shriveled old women whose days of bikini wearing are long over and old men give the term
“banana hammock” an entirely new meaning; this city was heaven. Swamps to the left and right
of random intersections with alligators basking in the scorching ultra violet rays, turkey
buzzards, wild boars, in combination with various other vultures following me with their eyes as
I stroll along for my evening walk, “this is the life,” I thought. Although, it seems as time has
passed by, the sights within my community have begun to lack intrigue. Where serenity once
was embraced, chaos and annoyance have become engulfed.
The slow moving vehicles preceding my own as I attempt to reach my destination (which
by the way, may only be one of a handful of places somewhere between the L section and the W
section), no longer give a sense of calmness, as well as ease. Over extended periods of time, the
city seems to begin a movement within us all, a fire burning fire to get us precisely where we are
going in the least amount of time as possible. Traffic no longer feels like the two minute wait it
truly is, but rather as if an hour long wait in the line for a disappointingly plain ride at Universal
Studios. I have noticed, after two years in this place the rays of the sun no longer cause the sweat
on my brow, the birds no longer sing as soft, the flowers no longer smell as sweet. It may be a
result of my undying thirst to live; you may even blame my apathy toward the attitudes of the
uppity senior citizens which irrefutably infest my surroundings. However, anyone living in or
around my way can and probably will politely explain to you if you simply ask, that Palm Coast,
Florida has a way of creating the living dead, a tasteless, lifeless place, where anyone inside of
the city limits is bound to sleep their days away.
Weekends consist solely of routine underage drinking in front of police that are too lazy
to care, church by force, 15 hours resting periods, and an over-usage of over-priced electronic
toys. Not to say that this is everyone’s first choice for fun, it’s more to say that give or take a few
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Alisha Morash
Period 3
November 2nd, 2011
exceptions, the acquired schedule of my fellow people is a choice based on lack of a better
option. In my neighborhood fun is over-powered and outshined by tacky, somewhat
embarrassing behaviors in the local hang-out spot, Wal-Mart. In my neighborhood, the theatres
play movies everyone has already boot-legged, and the closest thing we have to a shopping mall
is the complex just before Florida Park Drive where you will find Publix, Starbucks,
Blockbuster, CVS, and a Bealls. If you haven’t received my point yet, my neighborhood is a
trick.
My neighborhood is a great deception. Enticing us mindless humans in with breath taking
scenery, fantasy-like interactions with animals you would never think of, and beautiful houses
even your dreams never said you could live in. Then, in a drastic, unforeseen turn of events,
trapping us as we unlock the doors to our newly mortgaged homes, our sixth sense told us was
too good to be true, but our hearts said to stick around and enjoy the life.
As I lay here today a major five feet away from my in-ground swimming pool, I find
myself laughing at the golf players across the street on the vast-spread course whose golf balls
scare the woodpeckers out of my trees as they fly from the Heavens onto the baby geckos in the
fluorescent green of my backyard. My lemonade is disappearing down my throat and I am
wondering to myself, how in the world did I ever end up here? Later on, I will take a strut
throughout my residential area. I will watch the dogs on walks with their frugal owners
frantically look for a patch to go on without being scolded. I will smile at the elderly, who turn
their heads at the sight of my underage, pierced and tattooed body. Continuing my stroll, I will
be joined by friendly bunny rabbits with fluffy white tails and a family of deer. We will have a
staring contest for a while, then, in the blink of an eye their disappearing act will reoccur in the
same way it does every night. Finally, just as I turn to find my way home, my attention will be
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Alisha Morash
Period 3
November 2nd, 2011
grasped, the close flying planes headed to Jacksonville for landing will surprise me in awe. My
hand will stretch out missing the bottom of the over-sized hunk of metal by a slight inch, and
without a doubt I will end the night begging the banana spider who has built its home in my
doorway during my brief absence to please move so that I may catch-up on rest I have seven
days missed as I was busying discussing through Facebook status the malcontent demeanor of
my peers until the high holy hours of the morning. At the break of dawn, I will open my curtains
to feeding hummingbirds and whisper, “welcome to my life”.
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