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 text?
They sailed for a few days, visiting numerous islands with unspoiled nature and wild animals running freely. The distinguished guests were left speechless at those sceneries. It was almost impossible to find such places in their homelands, spoilt by industry and mineral exploration. They praised the president for his wisdom and care of nature and wildlife. But they could not imagine that not far away from this paradise there was an island with a notorious penal colony, where political prisoners spent years cutting stones and carrying them from one heap to another and back again with the only purpose of breaking them mentally and physically. The island was chosen as a prison because there is no fresh water on it, and it was impossible to escape from it, so the leader was indeed wise and knew how to treat his enemies.
Finally, the yacht would dock at the president’s private island to which only the chosen few had access. The distinguished guests would be asked to get into the cars and the leader would personally guide them as their slowly passed by the groves of cedars, spruces, olives and cypresses under which they saw zebras, llamas, mouflons, deer and even an elephant. There are a few photos showing him at the wheel of his Mercedes, in a Panama hat, puffing on his cigar, accompanied by some famous Hollywood stars. Even for the wealthiest people this visit must have been extraordinary. None of them would be able to buy a similar place where plants and animals from different continents thrived and lived in symbiosis seldom seen in the world.
In the evening, after the dinner, the president would regale them with the stories about his fight against the Nazis, his partisans, his long marches over the whole country, his escape from encirclements and traps, his wounding, and his victory. The visitors were enchanted. They had met an extraordinary man whose life was like a fairy tale, only he was real. Later, he sat at the piano and, when the notes of a Chopin Polonaise floated in the room, the eminent guests were surprised again. They wondered how a simple industry worker could have learnt to play so skilfully, and how he developed such exquisite tastes.
When the day came for the parting, the guests were lavished with the gifts and told to visit the president again. They returned to their homelands, loaded with stories about the beautiful country and its president, who was charming, generous and intelligent. If someone reminded them that he was a cruel dictator whose henchmen had killed thousands of innocent people, they would defend him vehemently. That was nothing but propaganda. They had met the president personally, talked to him and knew that he would not hurt a fly. They did not want to hear anything about the inhumane treatment of political prisoners, villages without running water or unpaved roads. They had promised him to return to his county, and they would keep that promise no matter what others had to say.
They came year after year, decade after decade until the president became ill and then died. They arrived on that occasion too, but only to pay him a final tribute. His yacht lay moored, patiently waiting for the new owner, but he never appeared. After his death, the country had chosen three leaders instead, but they had more important things on their minds than sailing or inviting celebrities from the whole world, so the yacht was never used again.
She is now a bitter old lady, watching her sisters passing by in all their splendour. They are owned by Russian, American or British tycoons. Larger, brighter, more ostentatious and comfortable than she had ever been, they glide soundlessly by her, without giving her a glance. She is hurt but do not show anything. If she could talk, she would shout, “Don’t be so big-headed, girls. One day you’ll all end up abandoned like me, eaten away by salt and waves like old people by osteoarthritis.”
THE END
They sailed for a few days, visiting numerous islands with unspoiled nature and wild animals running freely. The distinguished guests were left speechless at those sceneries. It was almost impossible to find such places in their homelands, spoilt by industry and mineral exploration. They praised the president for his wisdom and care of nature and wildlife. But they could not imagine that not far away from this paradise there was an island with a notorious penal colony, where political prisoners spent years cutting stones and carrying them from one heap to another and back again with the only purpose of breaking them mentally and physically. The island was chosen as a prison because there is no fresh water on it, and it was impossible to escape from it, so the leader was indeed wise and knew how to treat his enemies.
Finally, the yacht would dock at the president’s private island to which only the chosen few had access. The distinguished guests would be asked to get into the cars and the leader would personally guide them as their slowly passed by the groves of cedars, spruces, olives and cypresses under which they saw zebras, llamas, mouflons, deer and even an elephant. There are a few photos showing him at the wheel of his Mercedes, in a Panama hat, puffing on his cigar, accompanied by some famous Hollywood stars. Even for the wealthiest people this visit must have been extraordinary. None of them would be able to buy a similar place where plants and animals from different continents thrived and lived in symbiosis seldom seen in the world.
In the evening, after the dinner, the president would regale them with the stories about his fight against the Nazis, his partisans, his long marches over the whole country, his escape from encirclements and traps, his wounding, and his victory. The visitors were enchanted. They had met an extraordinary man whose life was like a fairy tale, only he was real. Later, he sat at the piano and, when the notes of a Chopin Polonaise floated in the room, the eminent guests were surprised again. They wondered how a simple industry worker could have learnt to play so skilfully, and how he developed such exquisite tastes.
When the day came for the parting, the guests were lavished with the gifts and told to visit the president again. They returned to their homelands, loaded with stories about the beautiful country and its president, who was charming, generous and intelligent. If someone reminded them that he was a cruel dictator whose henchmen had killed thousands of innocent people, they would defend him vehemently. That was nothing but propaganda. They had met the president personally, talked to him and knew that he would not hurt a fly. They did not want to hear anything about the inhumane treatment of political prisoners, villages without running water or unpaved roads. They had promised him to return to his county, and they would keep that promise no matter what others had to say.
They came year after year, decade after decade until the president became ill and then died. They arrived on that occasion too, but only to pay him a final tribute. His yacht lay moored, patiently waiting for the new owner, but he never appeared. After his death, the country had chosen three leaders instead, but they had more important things on their minds than sailing or inviting celebrities from the whole world, so the yacht was never used again.
She is now a bitter old lady, watching her sisters passing by in all their splendour. They are owned by Russian, American or British tycoons. Larger, brighter, more ostentatious and comfortable than she had ever been, they glide soundlessly by her, without giving her a glance. She is hurt but do not show anything. If she could talk, she would shout, “Don’t be so big-headed, girls. One day you’ll all end up abandoned like me, eaten away by salt and waves like old people by osteoarthritis.”
THE END
