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  1. #1
    Bassim is offline Senior Member
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    Default Please could your proofread my text

    This is the second part of my short story "The Parachutist". I would be grateful if someone would proofread it.

    When I was nine years old, I suffered from whooping cough. It was one of the worst experiences in my life. I was coughing all the time and was feeling as if I was going to die. The medicine they gave me did not have any effect and my father was becoming desperate watching me suffering and unable to help me. He discussed my illness with his workmates and some of them told him that the best solution should be to take me somewhere up in high mountains at least for a few hours.

    Just about 20 kilometres from our home there was a national park with a beautiful mountain, but its highest top is about 900 metres which seemed not high enough. And when my father almost lost hope, his colleague Ahmed, who was an experienced sport pilot came up with an idea that he would take me with him in the plane and fly up in the sky. My father agreed and the night before my very first flight I was so excited that I hardly could sleep.

    Ahmed’s son was my classmate and I heard him dozens of times telling his adventures he had experienced with his father up in the air and I was feeling envy because he was privileged to enjoy something which we others could only dream about.
    That Saturday morning was a beautiful sunny day without any clouds. When I came out of my father’s car and saw all those planes, gliders and people moving around I was overwhelmed. Up in the air these machines were small and simple, and now before my child’s eyes I could see how beautiful and complicated they were. Especially gliders looked graceful with their white-painted, slender, bodies and wide, narrow wings.

    There was a large hangar and beside it stood two planes. I wondered if it would be one of those in which I was going to fly. I saw Ahmed making his way out of the hangar. He was a man in his late thirties, redheaded, broad shouldered and of average height. He was wearing a brown leather pilot jacket which gleamed in the bright sun. His face broke into a broad smile and he shook hands warmly with my father and then he turned to me, ruffled my hair and asked me how I was feeling. Was I nervous? Afraid of flying?

    I answered that I was excited and that I have always dreamed about flying. “Let’s go and fly!” he said and led us towards the plane which body was white and blue painted. It was two seated and I sat on the back seat on my father’s lap, while Ahmed sat in front of us, behind the instrument panel with dozens of different indicators and switches. Ahmed started the machine and the propeller began to turn.
    Soon we were rolling forward across the wide field which looked like a green sea. The machine accelerated and after a few seconds I could feel that we were no longer on the ground, but rising up towards the blue sky.

    As the plane circled above the town, I had a strange feeling looking down at the landscape and buildings. I recognized my school with its grey flat roof, the concrete playground and the football stadium. I saw the high chimney of the paper mill. Then I saw the river, which banks were my favourite place during the summer and now I saw how beautiful it was, meandering through the meadows, orchards, woods and between gently rolling hills. I saw green wheat fields bathing in the sun and on the meadows some brown spots, which must have been herds of cows.
    We were soaring in the air higher and higher and had almost forgotten my health problem. I did not cough once, nor did I feel any tickling in my throat. For the first time in a week I breathed freely and deeply, grateful to be able to be healthy again.

    At one moment Ahmed turned towards us and shouted over the roar of the motor, “Altitude 2500 metres!” That sounded huge in my ears and when I looked through the window I noticed that buildings and landscape had started to melt into for me almost unrecognizable form. We flew for about 20 minutes on that height before Ahmed shouted again, “Descend! Hold firm in your chair!”
    He turned the nose of the plane downward and we dived towards the ground. It was a fast and steep descent and I thought that this was how a pilot of a military aircraft was feeling when attacking his target on the ground. What was going to happen with us if Ahmed did not manage to turn the plane upward, I asked myself and looking at the fast approaching ground. I answered that, probably there would be nothing left of us if we hit the earth.
    But Ahmed was a very skillful pilot and in the next moment I felt the plane coming up and flying peacefully again above the roofs of the buildings.

    We made one final tour above the town and then landed safely. When I put my feet on the grass again I was still feeling dizzy and took me some moments to recollect my composure, because the impressions were so strong for my child’s brain that I believed I was still in a strange dream. Ahmed invited us to a barbecue and before we sat around the fire he wanted to show us around. He told us that all what we saw had been built by the members of the club: the hangar, parachute simulator, tower and restaurant where people could buy food and drinks.

    At that time we lived in the communist state where people still believed in the ideals of equality and solidarity and every membership in an organization was admission free and instead it was the members themselves who volunteered and did all the work and reparations. I shook hands with some of the people and Ahmed told me who of them was a pilot and who a parachutist and in my eyes they all were heroes. We did not have a celebrity culture at that time, but instead pilots and parachutist enjoyed that celebrity status and every one of them would get a second name like for example, Ana, the Parachutist, Ivan, the Pilot or Zoran the Glider.
    TO BE CONTINUED

  2. #2
    Jay Louise's Avatar
    Jay Louise is offline Junior Member
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    Default Re: Please could your proofread my text

    Quote Originally Posted by Bassim View Post
    This is the second part of my short story "The Parachutist". I would be grateful if someone would proofread it.

    When I was nine years old, I suffered from whooping cough. It was one of the worst experiences in my life. I was coughing all the time and was feeling as if I was going to die. The medicine they gave me did not have any effect and my father was becoming desperate watching me suffering and unable to help me. He discussed my illness with his workmates and some of them told him that the best solution should would be to take me somewhere up in high mountains at least for a few hours.

    Just about 20 kilometres from our home there was a national park with a beautiful mountain, but its highest top is about 900 metres which seemed not high enough. And When my father had almost lost hope, his colleague Ahmed, who was an experienced sport pilot came up with an the idea that he would take me with him in the plane and fly up in the sky. My father agreed and the night before my very first flight I was so excited that I hardly could sleep.

    Ahmed’s son was my classmate and I heard him dozens of times telling his adventures he had experienced with his father up in the air and I was feeling envy because he was privileged to enjoy something which we others could only dream about. (he had told me many times of his adventures with his father... or dozens of times he had told me about his adventures with his father..)

    ...

    I answered that I was excited and that I have always dreamed about flying. “Let’s go and fly!” he said and led us towards the plane which was painted body was white and blue painted. It was two seated and I sat on in the back seat on my father’s lap, while Ahmed sat in front of us, behind the instrument panel with dozens of different indicators and switches. Ahmed started the machine and the propeller began to turn.
    Soon we were rolling forward across the wide field which looked like a green sea. The machine accelerated and after a few seconds I could feel that we were no longer on the ground, but rising up towards the blue sky.

    As the plane circled above the town, I had a strange feeling looking down at the landscape and buildings. I recognized my school with its grey flat roof, the concrete playground and the football stadium. I saw the high chimney of the paper mill. Then I saw the river, which whose banks were my favourite place during the summer and now I saw how beautiful it was, meandering through the meadows, orchards, woods and between gently rolling hills. I saw green wheat fields bathing in the sun and on the meadows some brown spots, which must have been herds of cows.
    We were soaring in the air higher and higher, and I had almost forgotten my health problem. I did not cough once, nor did I feel any tickling in my throat. For the first time in a week I breathed freely and deeply, grateful to be able to be healthy again.

    At one moment Ahmed turned towards us and shouted over the roar of the motor, “Altitude 2500 metres!” That sounded huge in my ears, and when I looked through the window, I noticed that the buildings and landscape had started to melt into for me an almost unrecognizable form. We flew for about 20 minutes on at that height before Ahmed shouted again, “Descend! Hold firm in your chair!”
    He turned the nose of the plane downward and we dived dove towards the ground. It was a fast and steep descent, and I thought that this was how a pilot of a military aircraft was feeling felt when attacking his target on the ground. What was going to happen with to us if Ahmed did not manage to turn the plane upward, I asked myself and looking at the fast approaching ground. I answered that, probably there would be nothing left of us if we hit the earth. (suggestion: What would happen to us if Ahmed did not manage to turn the plane upward, I asked myself. Looking at the fast approaching ground, I answered that there would probably be nothing left of us if we hit the earth.)
    But Ahmed was a very skillful pilot and in the next moment I felt the plane coming up and flying we flew peacefully again above the roofs of the buildings.

    We made one final tour above the town and then landed safely. When I put my feet on the grass again I was still feeling dizzy and took me some moments to recollect my composure. because The impressions were so strong for my child’s brain that I believed I was still in a strange dream. Ahmed invited us to a barbecue and before we sat around the fire he wanted to show us around. He told us that all what everything we saw had been built by the members of the club: the hangar, parachute simulator, tower and restaurant where people could buy food and drinks.

    At that time we lived in the communist state where people still believed in the ideals of equality and solidarity and every membership in an organization was admission free and instead it was the members themselves who volunteered and did all the work and reparations. I shook hands with some of the people and Ahmed told me who of them was a pilot and who a parachutist and in my eyes they all were heroes. We did not have a celebrity culture at that time, but instead pilots and parachutist enjoyed that celebrity status and every one of them would get a second name like for example, Ana, the Parachutist, Ivan, the Pilot or Zoran the Glider.
    TO BE CONTINUED
    ...

  3. #3
    Bassim is offline Senior Member
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    Default Re: Please could your proofread my text

    Dear Jay,

    Thank you very much for your help and your suggestions.They are very appreciated.

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