Bassim
VIP Member
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2008
- Member Type
- Student or Learner
- Native Language
- Bosnian
- Home Country
- Bosnia Herzegovina
- Current Location
- Sweden
These two paragraphs are from a short story I am still writing. I am not sure if some sentences sound natural. Would you please correct my mistakes?
In these paragraphs, the narrator describes the moment when the whole family are getting into a car and onto the trailer and leaving the village.
We came out and Father locked our door and put the key in his pocket. We all stood in silence before our two-storey house, which my parents had built for twenty-five years ago, sacrificing so much. My legs buckled, and I struggled to stand upright. I heard Mother sniffling, while Father heaved a long sigh. I wanted to hug them both, but he said in a thick voice, “Let’s go.”
My brother’s wife and her two daughters sat in the back of our Lada. Father got behind the wheel and Mother sat beside him. My second brother and I climbed up on the trailer, while the eldest brother took the driver’s seat of the tractor. Our dog Chico, German shepherd, jumped onto the trailer and lay beside me. We drove off slowly, leaving behind our pigs and cows, which stared at us with their dark large eyes as if begging us to take them with us. In the street, cattle and horses roamed freely, looking for their owners, who had already fled. We were the last to leave, and the hastily abandoned village was like a place where death had come and where life would never commence. Curtains blew out of the open windows, and laundry sailed in gardens. Through the windows of some houses, you could see plates with food on the tables, which people did not have time to eat. Some toys lay scattered on the porches, which their owners had probably dropped in haste. At the end of the village, a radio blared from somewhere, a booming voice urging people to fight and promising the final victory, but we sped up to catch up with others.
In these paragraphs, the narrator describes the moment when the whole family are getting into a car and onto the trailer and leaving the village.
We came out and Father locked our door and put the key in his pocket. We all stood in silence before our two-storey house, which my parents had built for twenty-five years ago, sacrificing so much. My legs buckled, and I struggled to stand upright. I heard Mother sniffling, while Father heaved a long sigh. I wanted to hug them both, but he said in a thick voice, “Let’s go.”
My brother’s wife and her two daughters sat in the back of our Lada. Father got behind the wheel and Mother sat beside him. My second brother and I climbed up on the trailer, while the eldest brother took the driver’s seat of the tractor. Our dog Chico, German shepherd, jumped onto the trailer and lay beside me. We drove off slowly, leaving behind our pigs and cows, which stared at us with their dark large eyes as if begging us to take them with us. In the street, cattle and horses roamed freely, looking for their owners, who had already fled. We were the last to leave, and the hastily abandoned village was like a place where death had come and where life would never commence. Curtains blew out of the open windows, and laundry sailed in gardens. Through the windows of some houses, you could see plates with food on the tables, which people did not have time to eat. Some toys lay scattered on the porches, which their owners had probably dropped in haste. At the end of the village, a radio blared from somewhere, a booming voice urging people to fight and promising the final victory, but we sped up to catch up with others.
