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  1. #1
    Bassim is offline Senior Member
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    Default The Poet, part one

    This is the first part of my short story, The Poet. Please, would you take a look at it and correct my mistakes.

    The telephone rang insistently. Its shrill sound felt like a torture in my ears because at that moment I had one of the most beautiful dreams in my life. I was lying on the sandy beach under the bright sun. The beach was endless, and except myself, there was nobody around. Suddenly, from nowhere the most beautiful woman waded out of the sea and walked towards me. She was completely naked and her body was covered with myriads of drops sparkling in the light. Her long, blond, wavy hair rippled in the wind. Her large blue eyes looked at me with compassion. I was also naked, but for my swimming trunks, and could sense my body vibrating as she was approaching me. She stretched out her hand and said to me in her sweet voice, “I know that you’ve waited for me for such a long time. But your wait hasn’t been in vain. Come, follow me. I’ll show you where the real happiness is.” She took me by the hand and helped me to my feet. She walked before me and I followed her, breathing in the scent of her slender body. An indescribable feeling formed in my mind. It was a mixture of a sexual desire and blissfulness, which took hold of every cell, every atom of my being. Unfortunately, my heavenly happiness evaporated so suddenly, defeated by a product of human workmanship. The painful, irritating sound did not want to stop, and I was compelled to open my eyes. The watch on the bedside table showed 9.15 a.m. I usually would not wake up until midday, thus skipping breakfast and saving money. In my situation every coin counted.

    I threw off the duvet and strode towards the telephone, ready to pounce on the destroyer of my beautiful dream with full force. If this was a telemarketer, I would tell him to move to Germany, open a brothel and employ the female members of his family. He would earn more money in a week selling sex than he earned in a year selling rubbish. But when I picked up the telephone receiver, the voice I could hear in the earpiece was pleasant and cultivated. He introduced himself as Katz, and was calling from the Prime Minister’s office. “This is just another scam or a prank” my inner voice told me. After all, why would the leader of a country ever come up with the idea of contacting someone like me? Who was interested in an outsider, and a loser, surviving on handouts from the state? Besides, I never cared about politics or bothered to vote in elections. I did not know the difference between the Left and the Right, and I believed that politicians were greedy people mostly interested in their own agendas. I was in such a bad mood that I wanted to tell the man to go to hell, and hang up the telephone, but there was something in his smooth voice which held me captivated by his words.

    Despite my doubts, Mr Katz appeared to be credible. He assured me in his warm, sophisticated voice that The Prime Minister was a man who deeply cared about ordinary people. Despite his wealthy origins, he was a humble person who treated everyone equally. He refused to live in a bubble, protected by the tall and thick walls, which prevented him to see reality. He was elected to serve his fellow citizens without taking advantage of them. He wanted to be closer to ordinary people than any of his predecessors had ever been. When the people were happy, he was happy too, but when they suffered, he suffered with them and felt their pain as it were his own. Especially today, in the crises, when the government had introduced deep cuts in the welfare system, the Prime Minister was interested more than ever to hear from the ordinary people about problems and worries. “Therefore, he would like to invite you, Boris Novak to breakfast with his wife and him in his residence. Would next Monday at 9 a.m. be an appropriate time?”

    My heart began to pound. The excitement was too great for me. It must have been years since someone invited me to their home or showed me kindness. To be honest, my life was miserable and empty, without any friends or family members who could comfort me when I felt lonely and depressed. At 35, I had become a bitter, cantankerous man who did not like this society or civilisation. I felt that I had more in common with animals and plants than with human beings. I could not imagine living with another member of the human race under the same roof, and I could not remember when it was the last time when I slept with a woman. I was a tender, weak plant withering away without the ability to change my fate, without salvation in sight. Lately my feelings shifted from self-hate, self-pity to self-contempt, and it was clear to me that I was probably going to spend the rest of my life like an embittered recluse. My death was going to be unnoticed, and nobody was going to sorrow me.

    To be continued.

  2. #2
    EnglishFix is offline Member
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    Default Re: The Poet, part one

    The telephone rang insistently. Its shrill sound felt like torture in my ears because at that moment I had one of the most beautiful dreams of my life. I was lying on a sandy beach under the bright sun. The beach was endless, and except for myself, there was nobody around. Suddenly, from nowhere the most beautiful woman waded out of the sea and walked towards me. She was completely naked and her body was covered with myriads of drops sparkling in the light. Her long, blond, wavy hair rippled in the wind. Her large blue eyes looked at me with compassion. I was also naked, but for my swimming trunks, and I could sense my body vibrating as she was approaching me. She stretched out her hand and said to me in her sweet voice, “I know that you’ve waited for me for such a long time. But your wait hasn’t been in vain. Come, follow me. I’ll show you where the real happiness is.” She took me by the hand and helped me to my feet. She walked before me and I followed her, breathing in the scent of her slender body. An indescribable feeling formed in my mind. It was a mixture of a sexual desire and blissfulness, which took hold of every cell, every atom of my being. Unfortunately, my heavenly happiness evaporated so suddenly, defeated by a product of human workmanship. The painful, irritating sound did not want to stop, and I was compelled to open my eyes. The watch on the bedside table showed 9.15 a.m. I usually would not wake up until midday, thus skipping breakfast and saving money. In my situation every coin counted.

    [no changes to paragraph 2]

    Despite my doubts, Mr Katz appeared to be credible. He assured me in his warm, sophisticated voice that the Prime Minister was a man who deeply cared about ordinary people. Despite his wealthy origins, he was a humble person who treated everyone equally. He refused to live in a bubble, protected by the tall and thick walls, which prevented him from seeing reality. He was elected to serve his fellow citizens without taking advantage of them. He wanted to be closer to ordinary people than any of his predecessors had ever been. When the people were happy, he was happy too, but when they suffered, he suffered with them and felt their pain as it were his own. Especially today, in the crises, when the government had introduced deep cuts in the welfare system, the Prime Minister was interested more than ever to hear from the ordinary people about problems and worries. “Therefore, he would like to invite you, Boris Novak to breakfast with his wife and him in his residence. Would next Monday at 9 a.m. be an appropriate time?”

    My heart began to pound. The excitement was too great for me. It must have been years since someone invited me to their home or showed me kindness. To be honest, my life was miserable and empty, without any friends or family members who could comfort me when I felt lonely and depressed. At 35, I had become a bitter, cantankerous man who did not like this society or civilization. I felt that I had more in common with animals and plants than with human beings. I could not imagine living with another member of the human race under the same roof, and I could not remember when was the last time I slept with a woman. I was a tender, weak plant withering away without the ability to change my fate, without salvation in sight. Lately my feelings shifted from self-hate, to self-pity, to self-contempt, and it was clear to me that I was probably going to spend the rest of my life like an embittered recluse. My death was going to be unnoticed, and nobody was going to sorrow for me.

  3. #3
    Gillnetter is offline Key Member
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    Default Re: The Poet, part one

    Quote Originally Posted by Bassim View Post
    This is the first part of my short story, The Poet. Please, would you take a look at it and correct my mistakes.

    The telephone rang insistently. Its shrill sound felt like a torture (sound cannot feel "like a torture", it is a torture) in my ears because at that moment I had was having one of the most beautiful dreams in my life. I was lying on the a sandy beach under the bright sun. The beach was endless, and except for myself, there was nobody around. Suddenly, from nowhere, the most beautiful woman waded out of the sea and walked towards me. She was completely naked and her body was covered with myriads of drops sparkling in the light. Her long, blond, wavy hair rippled in the wind. Her large blue eyes looked at me with compassion. I was also naked, but for my swimming trunks, and could sense my body vibrating as she was approaching me. She stretched out her hand and said to me in her sweet voice, “I know that you’ve waited for me for such a long time. But your wait hasn’t been in vain. Come, follow me. I’ll show you where the real happiness is.” She took me by the hand and helped me to my feet. She walked before me and I followed her, breathing in the scent of her slender body. An indescribable feeling formed in my mind. It was a mixture of a sexual desire and blissfulness, which took hold of every cell, every atom of my being. Unfortunately, my heavenly happiness evaporated so suddenly, defeated by a product of human workmanship. The painful, irritating sound did not want to stop, and I was compelled to open my eyes. The watch on the bedside table showed 9.15 a.m. I usually would not wake up until midday, thus skipping breakfast and saving money. In my situation every coin counted.

    I threw off the duvet and strode towards the telephone, ready to pounce on the destroyer of my beautiful dream with full force. If this was a telemarketer, I would tell him to move to Germany, open a brothel and employ the female members of his family. He would earn more money in a week selling sex than he earned in a year selling rubbish. But when I picked up the telephone receiver, the voice I could hear heard in the earpiece was pleasant and cultivated. He introduced himself as Katz, and was calling from the Prime Minister’s office. “This is just another scam or a prank” my inner voice told me. After all, why would the leader of a country ever come up with the idea of contacting someone like me? Who was interested in an outsider, and a loser, surviving on handouts from the state? Besides, I never cared about politics or bothered to vote in elections. I did not know the difference between the Left and the Right, and I believed that politicians were greedy people mostly interested in their own agendas. I was in such a bad mood that I wanted to tell the man to go to hell, and hang up the telephone, but there was something in his smooth voice which held me captivated by his words.

    Despite my doubts, Mr Katz appeared to be credible. He assured me in his warm, sophisticated voice that The Prime Minister was a man who deeply cared about ordinary people. Despite his wealthy origins, he was a humble person who treated everyone equally. He refused to live in a bubble, protected by the tall and thick walls, which prevented him to see from seeing reality. He was elected to serve his fellow citizens without taking advantage of them. He wanted to be closer to ordinary people than any of his predecessors had ever been. When the people were happy, he was happy too, but when they suffered, he suffered with them and felt their pain as it were his own. Especially today, in the crises, when the government had introduced deep cuts in the welfare system, the Prime Minister was interested more than ever to hear from the ordinary people about problems and worries. “Therefore, he would like to invite you, Boris Novak to breakfast with his wife and him in his residence. Would next Monday at 9 a.m. be an appropriate time?”

    My heart began to pound. The excitement was too great for me. It must have been years since someone invited me to their home or showed me kindness. To be honest, my life was miserable and empty, without any friends or family members who could comfort me when I felt lonely and depressed. At 35, I had become a bitter, cantankerous man who did not like this society or civilisation. I felt that I had more in common with animals and plants than with human beings. I could not imagine living with another member of the human race under the same roof, and I could not remember when it was the last time when I slept with a woman. I was a tender, weak plant withering away without the ability to change my fate, without salvation in sight. Lately my feelings shifted from self-hate, self-pity to self-contempt, and it was clear to me that I was probably going to spend the rest of my life like an embittered recluse. My death was going to be unnoticed, and nobody was going to sorrow miss (or, feel sorrow when I died) me.

    To be continued.
    Gil

  4. #4
    Bassim is offline Senior Member
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    Default Re: The Poet, part one

    Dear, Gil,

    Thank you again for correcting my text. I am glad that you have corrected my mistakes, and that I have made just a few.

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