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?
Finally, about 2 am Christina climbed into the bed and lay beside Paul, who was snoring peacefully like a car engine running in neutral. She loved him enormously and therefore kept him away from politics like a caring mother protecting her child. She managed to persuade him not to watch TV, listen to the radio and read newspapers. She had bought him instead dozens of DVDs with animated cartoons and Charlie Chapin’s movies, and many satirical and crosswords magazines to keep his mind busy. He mustn’t know what she was going through because his sensitive nature would never be able to cope with the cruel world of politics in which there are no true friends since the poison of power affects everyone who comes in contact with it.
If she told him about backstabbing, mudslinging, trickery, threats, lies and other things she had to go through every day, Paul would die of heart attack on the spot, like a rabbit that suddenly saw a wolf’s jaws in front of him. He lived in blissful ignorance, but he was so happy doing everyday chores like cooking, washing, feeding birds and fishes, watering flowers and lawns, knitting and sewing curtains that she didn’t have the heart to spoil his happiness. With those thoughts, Christina went to sleep and entered the realm of dreams.
She was sitting on a plane, flying to Berlin, invited to the conference called, “The EU without the UK – myth, future, reality.” She looked out of the window down at her homeland vanishing behind blankets of fog and she pressed her briefcase to her side. It contained her speech which she had written herself. She had read through it hundreds of times and knew it by heart. She was sure it would be ranked as one of the best in the history of the world, in the same category of Martin Luther’s “I have a dream”, only this time people would quote her, “We are alone but stronger than ever!” She had carefully practiced her performance. This time there would be no dancing, no skipping, and no smiles on the stage. She would hold her head high and look at them with scorn.
“Would you like something to drink?”
Her thoughts were interrupted by a flight attendant with dark hair and lively dark eyes. “He must be Italian,” Christina thought. The presence of the young man whose slim body smelt slightly of aftershave and sweat made her heart beat faster. Had she been 30 years younger, she might have been flirting with him, but now she gave him just a bright smile. She ordered a glass of Dolcetto and, as she was sipping the red liquid, she wandered through the lush landscape in Tuscany and breathed in the air smelling of pines, sunflowers, and vineyards. She had such pleasant memories of Italy that she vowed to travel there again and hike with Paul through those beautiful fields before osteoarthritis invaded their legs and made their walks painful. Only this time the entrance would be more complicated because they would need their passports, and they would probably not be welcomed as before. She thought again about the handsome flight attendant and wondered if he was going to stay in the UK or return to his homeland, and not only he but hundreds of thousands of young men and women who were now living in limbo. No. She should not have any qualms. People have always been sacrificed for the common good, and this time was no different.
TO BE CONTINUED
Finally, about 2 am Christina climbed into the bed and lay beside Paul, who was snoring peacefully like a car engine running in neutral. She loved him enormously and therefore kept him away from politics like a caring mother protecting her child. She managed to persuade him not to watch TV, listen to the radio and read newspapers. She had bought him instead dozens of DVDs with animated cartoons and Charlie Chapin’s movies, and many satirical and crosswords magazines to keep his mind busy. He mustn’t know what she was going through because his sensitive nature would never be able to cope with the cruel world of politics in which there are no true friends since the poison of power affects everyone who comes in contact with it.
If she told him about backstabbing, mudslinging, trickery, threats, lies and other things she had to go through every day, Paul would die of heart attack on the spot, like a rabbit that suddenly saw a wolf’s jaws in front of him. He lived in blissful ignorance, but he was so happy doing everyday chores like cooking, washing, feeding birds and fishes, watering flowers and lawns, knitting and sewing curtains that she didn’t have the heart to spoil his happiness. With those thoughts, Christina went to sleep and entered the realm of dreams.
She was sitting on a plane, flying to Berlin, invited to the conference called, “The EU without the UK – myth, future, reality.” She looked out of the window down at her homeland vanishing behind blankets of fog and she pressed her briefcase to her side. It contained her speech which she had written herself. She had read through it hundreds of times and knew it by heart. She was sure it would be ranked as one of the best in the history of the world, in the same category of Martin Luther’s “I have a dream”, only this time people would quote her, “We are alone but stronger than ever!” She had carefully practiced her performance. This time there would be no dancing, no skipping, and no smiles on the stage. She would hold her head high and look at them with scorn.
“Would you like something to drink?”
Her thoughts were interrupted by a flight attendant with dark hair and lively dark eyes. “He must be Italian,” Christina thought. The presence of the young man whose slim body smelt slightly of aftershave and sweat made her heart beat faster. Had she been 30 years younger, she might have been flirting with him, but now she gave him just a bright smile. She ordered a glass of Dolcetto and, as she was sipping the red liquid, she wandered through the lush landscape in Tuscany and breathed in the air smelling of pines, sunflowers, and vineyards. She had such pleasant memories of Italy that she vowed to travel there again and hike with Paul through those beautiful fields before osteoarthritis invaded their legs and made their walks painful. Only this time the entrance would be more complicated because they would need their passports, and they would probably not be welcomed as before. She thought again about the handsome flight attendant and wondered if he was going to stay in the UK or return to his homeland, and not only he but hundreds of thousands of young men and women who were now living in limbo. No. She should not have any qualms. People have always been sacrificed for the common good, and this time was no different.
TO BE CONTINUED
