Bassim
VIP Member
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2008
- Member Type
- Student or Learner
- Native Language
- Bosnian
- Home Country
- Bosnia Herzegovina
- Current Location
- Sweden
Would you please correct the mistakes in the second part of my short story?
When I came home, Mother asked me how I spent the day, and I told her I strolled around with my friends. She nodded and said that I should read more if I wished to study at university one day. “If you don’t get good education, you’re going to slave away in a shop just as I do,” she said massaging her swollen feet. I went to bed early, but sleep didn’t come. The stranger occupied my mind deep in the night and caused my heart to swell with happiness. I saw us walking together on a walkway along the shore, telling each other stories from our lives, like a father and a daughter who met each other after many years. I held his hand and enjoyed intimacy with him. And when people stopped to ask me who this handsome man was, I looked into their eyes and replied, “This is my father,” and then I watched their faces turn crimson with envy.
The next morning, my best friend, Mia called me on the phone and asked me to visit her, but I told her a white lie that I got a stomach bug and had to stay at home. I ate breakfast quickly and run to the hotel to wait for the stranger. I sat on a nearby bus stop, pretending to wait for a bus while keeping an eye on the entrance. After about an hour, an old couple came out, and then my heart skipped as I saw him walking out behind them. He was dressed in the same suit as the previous day and exuded an aura of confidence.
“Good morning,” he said, and the old couple greeted him back.
“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” woman said. “Are you going to write more of your book today?”
“I hope so,” the stranger replied with a slight accent. “The sea and positive vibes are good for brain cells. And what about you?”
“We’ll take a stroll to the castle and the museum to see some old weaponry from the past wars. We use the opportunity to have a look around before high season starts,” she replied.
I walked behind him as he went down the walkway and sat on the bench. He put the laptop on his lap and started typing. He was typing quickly, with all ten fingers. He must have been a professional writer of some kind, versed in using words and intelligence. Because of this, I liked him even more. I wished my father to be an intellectual who would use his brain rather than a manual worker whose body would be worn out after years of backbreaking work. I watched him for a while and then I walked back home satisfied to know where I could find him the next time.
I learned to swim early, even before I was able to read and write. I grew up with the sea, shells, starfish, salty air, and the hot sand under my feet. The sea and the beach were my playgrounds to which I ran as soon as I ate breakfast. I would spend the whole day bathing until my mother came to call me for lunch. But I hated tourists when they arrived in their thousands in the summer in our little town and occupied every centimetre of our beach. I could not stand their pale bodies which would burn red within hours, the scents of their sunscreens and the music from their radios. Nor could I stand their spoiled children who were hungry or thirsty all the time and, every few minutes, asked their parents for money to buy ice cream and sandwiches. Therefore, Mia and I preferred to go to the beach late in the afternoon when we would have it to ourselves.
We were lying on a rock, gossiping and enjoying the sunset when she shouted, “Look, a hunk!” My heart leapt when I saw the stranger walking down to the shore. He wore a T-shirt and shorts and carried a white towel over his shoulder. He took off his clothes and stood in swimming trunks, flexing his chiselled body for a few seconds before walking into the sea. He dove, disappeared under the surface for a few seconds and then swam towards the setting sun. His strong arms cut through the water effortlessly. His long legs propelled him forward. I heard Mia saying how gorgeous he was, wondering who he was, but I didn’t pay her any attention. I was swimming with him. We were like a couple of dolphins heading towards the ocean: Father and daughter united by a quirk of fate. My body trembled and I had to restrain myself from running into the sea and swimming after him.
When he came out of the water, he looked like a hero from an ancient myth, who had returned to Earth after visiting the home of gods. The sea was sparkling with the fading colours of the sunset and the blue of the coming evening. It invested his figure with aura of otherworldliness. He did not bother to dry himself on the towel, and instead he started shadow boxing and kicking. I knew nothing about martial arts, but he seemed to be skilful. He threw punches in the air and ducked to avoid the blows of the imaginary opponent. His feet shuffled quickly back and forth and crisscrossed before they were planted firmly in the sand and he kicked high in the air with his foot. It looked like ballet created to harm and even kill an attacker. Mia and I stared at him in silence, impressed by his skills. A couple of people with their dogs stood motionless and gaped at him in wonder. But he seemed to be living in the world of his own and didn’t give us a glance. When he finished his exercises, he stood on the edge of the shore towards the light of the dying sun and breathed deeply, his broad shoulders heaving. I was mesmerised by the scene: the ripples of light and darkness, his tall, sculpted body, and a silence broken by the sounds of the waves lapping the shore. I felt strange calmness, as if all my burdens and problems had been swept away.
TO BE CONTINUED
When I came home, Mother asked me how I spent the day, and I told her I strolled around with my friends. She nodded and said that I should read more if I wished to study at university one day. “If you don’t get good education, you’re going to slave away in a shop just as I do,” she said massaging her swollen feet. I went to bed early, but sleep didn’t come. The stranger occupied my mind deep in the night and caused my heart to swell with happiness. I saw us walking together on a walkway along the shore, telling each other stories from our lives, like a father and a daughter who met each other after many years. I held his hand and enjoyed intimacy with him. And when people stopped to ask me who this handsome man was, I looked into their eyes and replied, “This is my father,” and then I watched their faces turn crimson with envy.
The next morning, my best friend, Mia called me on the phone and asked me to visit her, but I told her a white lie that I got a stomach bug and had to stay at home. I ate breakfast quickly and run to the hotel to wait for the stranger. I sat on a nearby bus stop, pretending to wait for a bus while keeping an eye on the entrance. After about an hour, an old couple came out, and then my heart skipped as I saw him walking out behind them. He was dressed in the same suit as the previous day and exuded an aura of confidence.
“Good morning,” he said, and the old couple greeted him back.
“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” woman said. “Are you going to write more of your book today?”
“I hope so,” the stranger replied with a slight accent. “The sea and positive vibes are good for brain cells. And what about you?”
“We’ll take a stroll to the castle and the museum to see some old weaponry from the past wars. We use the opportunity to have a look around before high season starts,” she replied.
I walked behind him as he went down the walkway and sat on the bench. He put the laptop on his lap and started typing. He was typing quickly, with all ten fingers. He must have been a professional writer of some kind, versed in using words and intelligence. Because of this, I liked him even more. I wished my father to be an intellectual who would use his brain rather than a manual worker whose body would be worn out after years of backbreaking work. I watched him for a while and then I walked back home satisfied to know where I could find him the next time.
I learned to swim early, even before I was able to read and write. I grew up with the sea, shells, starfish, salty air, and the hot sand under my feet. The sea and the beach were my playgrounds to which I ran as soon as I ate breakfast. I would spend the whole day bathing until my mother came to call me for lunch. But I hated tourists when they arrived in their thousands in the summer in our little town and occupied every centimetre of our beach. I could not stand their pale bodies which would burn red within hours, the scents of their sunscreens and the music from their radios. Nor could I stand their spoiled children who were hungry or thirsty all the time and, every few minutes, asked their parents for money to buy ice cream and sandwiches. Therefore, Mia and I preferred to go to the beach late in the afternoon when we would have it to ourselves.
We were lying on a rock, gossiping and enjoying the sunset when she shouted, “Look, a hunk!” My heart leapt when I saw the stranger walking down to the shore. He wore a T-shirt and shorts and carried a white towel over his shoulder. He took off his clothes and stood in swimming trunks, flexing his chiselled body for a few seconds before walking into the sea. He dove, disappeared under the surface for a few seconds and then swam towards the setting sun. His strong arms cut through the water effortlessly. His long legs propelled him forward. I heard Mia saying how gorgeous he was, wondering who he was, but I didn’t pay her any attention. I was swimming with him. We were like a couple of dolphins heading towards the ocean: Father and daughter united by a quirk of fate. My body trembled and I had to restrain myself from running into the sea and swimming after him.
When he came out of the water, he looked like a hero from an ancient myth, who had returned to Earth after visiting the home of gods. The sea was sparkling with the fading colours of the sunset and the blue of the coming evening. It invested his figure with aura of otherworldliness. He did not bother to dry himself on the towel, and instead he started shadow boxing and kicking. I knew nothing about martial arts, but he seemed to be skilful. He threw punches in the air and ducked to avoid the blows of the imaginary opponent. His feet shuffled quickly back and forth and crisscrossed before they were planted firmly in the sand and he kicked high in the air with his foot. It looked like ballet created to harm and even kill an attacker. Mia and I stared at him in silence, impressed by his skills. A couple of people with their dogs stood motionless and gaped at him in wonder. But he seemed to be living in the world of his own and didn’t give us a glance. When he finished his exercises, he stood on the edge of the shore towards the light of the dying sun and breathed deeply, his broad shoulders heaving. I was mesmerised by the scene: the ripples of light and darkness, his tall, sculpted body, and a silence broken by the sounds of the waves lapping the shore. I felt strange calmness, as if all my burdens and problems had been swept away.
TO BE CONTINUED
