Bassim
VIP Member
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2008
- Member Type
- Student or Learner
- Native Language
- Bosnian
- Home Country
- Bosnia Herzegovina
- Current Location
- Sweden
Please, could you proofread the third part of my short story.
When I returned home, I dressed in my newly bought clothes and shoes and looked myself in the mirror. I was satisfied with my new look which was not different from millions of other citizens of the country. The only thing which made me worry was the faint smell of old clothes still lingering on them and I went into the bathroom, filled the washbasin with water and detergent and immersed my shirt in it until the scented detergent penetrate every fibre of its cotton fabric and finally prevailed.
As I could not do the same thing with the jacket, I put it instead on a hanger and left it outside to air for some days. I also gave the shoes a polish which made them almost look like new.
Lying in bed that night I was so excited that I could not sleep. In this moment, I wished I had someone to share my happiness with, but unfortunately, I have severed all contact with my mother five years ago, after her persistent nagging about my solitary life and my obligation to marry and have children who would continue our family line. I told her to go to hell. When she continued with her preaching I simply grabbed her arms and threw her out, yelling at her never to come here again.
However, despite my warning, she returned time and again, knocking at my door, calling my name and making me ashamed before my neighbours. They must have believed that I was the most cruel person who did not want to let his own mother come in.
But I persisted stubbornly in my decision never to open my door for her. Maybe that was an act of vengeance for the pain she caused me in the past.
There was a time when we were an ordinary family. My father worked as an engineer in a factory and my mother was an accountant and we were three children of whom I was the youngest. My brother Joakim was five years older then I and my sister Irena three. We did not lack anything and we lived in a leafy suburb populated mainly by the middle class.
When I was around ten years old, I heard my parents quarrelling for the first time. It was about trifles, which I could not even remember any more, but soon they quarrelled about chores, like who should clean, who should cook or who should wash the car. I sat in my room on the upper floor trying to read a book, when I heard their raised voices from the kitchen which were spoiling the joy of my reading.
Probably I was too young to understand what was really going on, but I was feeling that something was wrong. My brother and sister were in deep romantic love with their respective lovers and seemed not to bother with the problems of our parents. I wished I could ignore them also, but unfortunately they came even in my dreams and I would see and hear them quarrelling inside my head and I would wake up in the night screaming and shivering.
Their voices became louder and angrier and I expected to hear blows any moment, but luckily their conflict remained confined to the exchange of insults and accusations which only became ruder and more serious. Now it was not about chores, but about adultery and the rumours that he had a relationship with one of the workers in the factory and she with her boss. Their quarrels made me feel sick and I began to loathe them both. I thought they were egoistic and did not care about us children who could hear everything and were unable to change anything.
To be continued.
When I returned home, I dressed in my newly bought clothes and shoes and looked myself in the mirror. I was satisfied with my new look which was not different from millions of other citizens of the country. The only thing which made me worry was the faint smell of old clothes still lingering on them and I went into the bathroom, filled the washbasin with water and detergent and immersed my shirt in it until the scented detergent penetrate every fibre of its cotton fabric and finally prevailed.
As I could not do the same thing with the jacket, I put it instead on a hanger and left it outside to air for some days. I also gave the shoes a polish which made them almost look like new.
Lying in bed that night I was so excited that I could not sleep. In this moment, I wished I had someone to share my happiness with, but unfortunately, I have severed all contact with my mother five years ago, after her persistent nagging about my solitary life and my obligation to marry and have children who would continue our family line. I told her to go to hell. When she continued with her preaching I simply grabbed her arms and threw her out, yelling at her never to come here again.
However, despite my warning, she returned time and again, knocking at my door, calling my name and making me ashamed before my neighbours. They must have believed that I was the most cruel person who did not want to let his own mother come in.
But I persisted stubbornly in my decision never to open my door for her. Maybe that was an act of vengeance for the pain she caused me in the past.
There was a time when we were an ordinary family. My father worked as an engineer in a factory and my mother was an accountant and we were three children of whom I was the youngest. My brother Joakim was five years older then I and my sister Irena three. We did not lack anything and we lived in a leafy suburb populated mainly by the middle class.
When I was around ten years old, I heard my parents quarrelling for the first time. It was about trifles, which I could not even remember any more, but soon they quarrelled about chores, like who should clean, who should cook or who should wash the car. I sat in my room on the upper floor trying to read a book, when I heard their raised voices from the kitchen which were spoiling the joy of my reading.
Probably I was too young to understand what was really going on, but I was feeling that something was wrong. My brother and sister were in deep romantic love with their respective lovers and seemed not to bother with the problems of our parents. I wished I could ignore them also, but unfortunately they came even in my dreams and I would see and hear them quarrelling inside my head and I would wake up in the night screaming and shivering.
Their voices became louder and angrier and I expected to hear blows any moment, but luckily their conflict remained confined to the exchange of insults and accusations which only became ruder and more serious. Now it was not about chores, but about adultery and the rumours that he had a relationship with one of the workers in the factory and she with her boss. Their quarrels made me feel sick and I began to loathe them both. I thought they were egoistic and did not care about us children who could hear everything and were unable to change anything.
To be continued.
Last edited:
Overall, your writing are very good already. I hope you will find someone who can help you improve your writing. Good luck.
