Student or Learner
This is the first part of my short story, "The Tumour." Please would you take a look and correct my mistakes.
I hated summer. Every year I awaited the temperature rise with trepidation and frustration. In the morning, I would open the window, feel the hot breeze on my face, see the blazing sun on the blue sky, and immediately I would become dejected. A glance at the outdoor thermometer and the red liquid rising unmistakably inside a tube only confirmed my fears. I felt like a prisoner waiting for the torturer to come and carry out his grim task.
All my life I had been suffering from the copious perspiration. While people around me could live a normal life and function properly, my sweat controlled my existence. My body was like a car whose radiator had been damaged and needed to cool down every kilometre. Already a small increase in temperature would inevitably cause considerable perspiration. During the warm days when the majority of the people sat in outdoor cafes and restaurants, strolled in the streets, or enjoyed beautiful weather basking in the parks, I sat in my flat and tried to stay cool.
If I needed to go outside to buy some food, do shopping, go to the library, or had some other things to do, I would take the bus early in the morning to avoid the heat. But that did not prevent my body to sweat already after a few minutes. About twenty minutes later, the drops of perspiration rolled down my back, bottom, and gathered in my trousers. Under my armpits, sweat poured like from a broken pipe, and wetted my t-shirt and shirt. If I had a jacket on, the lining under my armpits became wet also. My palms were so sweaty that drops fell on asphalt like a rain. Whenever I had to shake hands with someone, I felt embarrassed as If my hands were infected with dangerous contagious disease. My shoes squelched as I walked, because sweat inside them could not evaporate. But the most problems caused me my forehead, which was covered in drops of perspiration all the time, and which made me feel uncomfortable whenever I had to talk to the people. I wiped my forehead and face with the back of my hand or a paper tissue, but the next moment sweat poured again, and I only wished if I could have disappeared off the face of the earth. I had an impression that everyone was staring at me. That filled me with panic, which in turn made me sweat even more. I felt disabled, although my limbs and other organs functioned as they should. I had thought of killing myself many a time, but lacked the courage to take that final step, which would end all my suffering.
I had tried everything to get relief from this predicament. Different kinds of specialists examined my body, prescribed all kinds of medicine, from antidepressants, sedatives to diuretics for high blood pressure, but all to no avail. When the modern medicine and science were unable to help me, I turned to alternatives. Quacks gave me some strange coloured and smelling potions to drink. They were not cheap, but the quacks firmly promised me they were going to cure me. I was a desperate man, and was ready to pay any price. When these concoctions did not help, they pricked my skin with hundreds of needles, massaged me with scented oils and bathed me in special liquids, but without success.
I turned again to science and reason and had psychotherapy. I talked on and on while the psychiatrist sat in silence, listening to me and occasionally taking notes. It went on for months, and the only solution he could come up with was to tell me that I should pretend everything was normal. “Tell yourself you are completely dry, ignore sweat and relax,” he said in a composed voice, which never showed any emotions during our sessions. I had paid a large sum of money in the previous months to hear such rubbish, and I exploded. I took off my clothes and my shoes, and when he saw all that sweat flowing from my body, he became speechless. He just stared at my wet body and the clothes that looked like soaked rags, and then he said, “Gosh, I never saw anything like this!” This was the end of my psychotherapy as well as the end of my hopes. I had to admit the defeat and the sad truth that I was going to suffer until my end.
Not only sweat controlled every part of my existence, but because of it, my relationship with women became almost impossible. My first girlfriend, Ingrid, was a typical Nordic beauty. I went to the library to find some books about Bosnia and Herzegovina and the Balkans, and there at the information desk, stood a tall and slim young woman with a wavy blond hair and large blue eyes that made my heart beat faster. I had seen such beauties before only on TV and in glossy magazines, and I had believed they were an illusion, a product made with the help of make-up artists and studio lightning. Now in front of me was a woman in flesh and blood who did not even use make-up or jewellery, and still looked perfect. She came behind the desk and told me to follow her to the other end of the library. I breathed in her subtle perfume and felt a strong desire to fondle her.
To be continued
I wanted to avoid using the word "thermometer" twice and therefore i have used "inside a tube. " Could I write "inside of it", instead, or do you have some other suitable word?
Thank you so much.
I am only wondering about the word "sweat". When does it need an article the, like in the sentence," ...ignore the sweat and relax." Is it only when sweat is specific or is it because of some other reason?
OK, change that comma to a semicolon. (If you change it to a period you have to capitalize ignore.) I would say that "the sweat" is short for "the sweat on your body" and without "the" there it is an instruction to ignore sweat in general. (Some advice is impossible to follow.)
“Tell yourself you are completely dry, ignore the sweat and relax.”