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 third part of my short story?
He slumped into his armchair and told me to make him a large cup of strong coffee. When I brought the cup, he took a long sip and told me to sit down. His bushy eyebrows drew together. He dragged his palms up and down his tights, the way I can’t remember he had ever done before.
“You certainly wonder what happened a few minutes ago. There is something I’d gone through I had never told anyone. Something incredible and awful I’d tried to put back out of my mind. It was a summer at the end of seventies. My family lived in the north of Sweden, surrounded by woods and forests. They are dense and dark, and in summer, they are swarming with mosquitoes. My wife wanted to make a lingonberry pie, so I put on some thick clothes, applied an insect repellent cream on my face and hands, and fetched a berry picker from a tool shed. Oscar, our dog barked and wagged his tail, sensing the excursion in the wild. The morning was glorious; the air smelled of spruce and pine trees, and birds chirped merrily in the treetops.
I had no reason to complain about my life. I was happily married, had two daughters, , owned a house and a Volvo, had a well-paid job, and lived in a prosperous country where you could fulfil all your dreams and live in peace without thinking about wars, conflicts and other disasters. Even at that time, we had refugees from Chile, Africa and the East Block who found sanctuary in our country and recounted stories of abuse and torture by their own police and military. After hearing such chilling testimonies, you could only appreciate even more your peaceful life.
We first walked a well-trodden path; Oskar a few meters in front of me sniffing in all directions, enjoying a variety of different scents and smells. It must have felt like a real feast for his nose, and this was probably one of the reasons he was always eager to follow me into the woods. We then turned to the left and walked through the undergrowth to my “secret” place where lingonberries grew in abundance. It was a piece of cake to harvest them with the picker, and soon I had a bag full of them. Oscar was around me all the time, watching me and wagging his tail. Then suddenly, he seemed to have seen or scented an animal, a fox or a hare. He darted away and disappeared into the woods before I could do anything. I heard him barking madly for a while, and then it was quiet again. I shouted his name, but he didn’t come back. I was first angry, but then I thought that the dog was a beagle and he just followed his natural instinct. I’d got it two years ago from my friend Anto, who was a hunter. When he was visiting us one day, my wife talked about having a dog, and the next time Anto came to our home, he had a puppy in a shoebox.
I could not return home without him; it would be like leaving a child in the wild. I walked calling his name all the time, but the only sound I heard was the mosquitoes whining around my head. I found myself in the part of the woods I had never been before. The trees grew thick and high, and I didn’t know which direction to take. I was still calm and was convinced I was going to bump into Oscar any moment.
Suddenly, I heard rustling around me. My legs buckled as the soldiers in camouflage and wearing balaclavas appeared behind the ferns. They pointed their rifles at me. “Hands up!” someone shouted, and I, without being told twice, dropped the bag and the picker and lifted my hands above me head. My heart raced madly; I was paralysed with fear. I heard someone coming behind me. A pair of hands frisked my body; his fingers groped into my pockets, took my wallet from my jacket’s inner pocket, and ran up and down my thighs. I wanted cry out, “I’ve done nothing wrong!” but my voice failed me. Then I saw a piece of black cloth in front of my eyes, which someone fastened tightly across my eyes and knotted behind my head. I felt the neck of a plastic bottle on my lips, and someone ordered, “Drink!” The liquid was tepid and tasted like water. I was thirsty and swallowed it gratefully. Soon, my head started spinning, and the only thing I could remember was my legs giving way, and I collapsed to the ground.
I came to in a narrow room with a concrete floor and grey walls. A thin mattress with a blanket and a pillow lay in one corner and, in another, a washbasin and a toilet made from stainless steel. A single fluorescent tube in the high ceiling cast a pale light. The room had no windows, just a square vent through which a weak flow of air came inside. The silence was eerie, as if I was sealed in a tomb. I had only my briefs and t-shirt on. They had taken everything from me, included my watch. I still refused to believe this was happening to me. It must have been an awful nightmare from which I was going to wake up any moment and return to normal life again.
TO BE CONTINUED
He slumped into his armchair and told me to make him a large cup of strong coffee. When I brought the cup, he took a long sip and told me to sit down. His bushy eyebrows drew together. He dragged his palms up and down his tights, the way I can’t remember he had ever done before.
“You certainly wonder what happened a few minutes ago. There is something I’d gone through I had never told anyone. Something incredible and awful I’d tried to put back out of my mind. It was a summer at the end of seventies. My family lived in the north of Sweden, surrounded by woods and forests. They are dense and dark, and in summer, they are swarming with mosquitoes. My wife wanted to make a lingonberry pie, so I put on some thick clothes, applied an insect repellent cream on my face and hands, and fetched a berry picker from a tool shed. Oscar, our dog barked and wagged his tail, sensing the excursion in the wild. The morning was glorious; the air smelled of spruce and pine trees, and birds chirped merrily in the treetops.
I had no reason to complain about my life. I was happily married, had two daughters, , owned a house and a Volvo, had a well-paid job, and lived in a prosperous country where you could fulfil all your dreams and live in peace without thinking about wars, conflicts and other disasters. Even at that time, we had refugees from Chile, Africa and the East Block who found sanctuary in our country and recounted stories of abuse and torture by their own police and military. After hearing such chilling testimonies, you could only appreciate even more your peaceful life.
We first walked a well-trodden path; Oskar a few meters in front of me sniffing in all directions, enjoying a variety of different scents and smells. It must have felt like a real feast for his nose, and this was probably one of the reasons he was always eager to follow me into the woods. We then turned to the left and walked through the undergrowth to my “secret” place where lingonberries grew in abundance. It was a piece of cake to harvest them with the picker, and soon I had a bag full of them. Oscar was around me all the time, watching me and wagging his tail. Then suddenly, he seemed to have seen or scented an animal, a fox or a hare. He darted away and disappeared into the woods before I could do anything. I heard him barking madly for a while, and then it was quiet again. I shouted his name, but he didn’t come back. I was first angry, but then I thought that the dog was a beagle and he just followed his natural instinct. I’d got it two years ago from my friend Anto, who was a hunter. When he was visiting us one day, my wife talked about having a dog, and the next time Anto came to our home, he had a puppy in a shoebox.
I could not return home without him; it would be like leaving a child in the wild. I walked calling his name all the time, but the only sound I heard was the mosquitoes whining around my head. I found myself in the part of the woods I had never been before. The trees grew thick and high, and I didn’t know which direction to take. I was still calm and was convinced I was going to bump into Oscar any moment.
Suddenly, I heard rustling around me. My legs buckled as the soldiers in camouflage and wearing balaclavas appeared behind the ferns. They pointed their rifles at me. “Hands up!” someone shouted, and I, without being told twice, dropped the bag and the picker and lifted my hands above me head. My heart raced madly; I was paralysed with fear. I heard someone coming behind me. A pair of hands frisked my body; his fingers groped into my pockets, took my wallet from my jacket’s inner pocket, and ran up and down my thighs. I wanted cry out, “I’ve done nothing wrong!” but my voice failed me. Then I saw a piece of black cloth in front of my eyes, which someone fastened tightly across my eyes and knotted behind my head. I felt the neck of a plastic bottle on my lips, and someone ordered, “Drink!” The liquid was tepid and tasted like water. I was thirsty and swallowed it gratefully. Soon, my head started spinning, and the only thing I could remember was my legs giving way, and I collapsed to the ground.
I came to in a narrow room with a concrete floor and grey walls. A thin mattress with a blanket and a pillow lay in one corner and, in another, a washbasin and a toilet made from stainless steel. A single fluorescent tube in the high ceiling cast a pale light. The room had no windows, just a square vent through which a weak flow of air came inside. The silence was eerie, as if I was sealed in a tomb. I had only my briefs and t-shirt on. They had taken everything from me, included my watch. I still refused to believe this was happening to me. It must have been an awful nightmare from which I was going to wake up any moment and return to normal life again.
TO BE CONTINUED
