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?
As she came out of the plane, Christina was disappointed that nobody had been waiting for her. She expected to see Mrs Muffin dressed in a dirndl and holding a sign “Welcome Christina”, but she must have felt snubbed because Christina never agreed to any or her proposals, although Mrs Muffin tried to convince her she wished her country only well. She was long in politics to know that behind generosity and kindness there must be some ulterior motives that often come out when it is too late. Mrs Muffin had given her smiles and patted her friendly on her shoulder on previous occasions, but Christina felt she couldn’t be trusted, and neither could be other EU leaders.
The arrivals hall was buzzing with passengers, queuing in three lines. To the right, the sign said, EU CITIZENS, in the middle, OTHERS, and to the left, hardly visible from distance, UK CITIZENS ONLY. The sign for the UK citizens was placed so low that you had to bend yourself to pass under it and enter a dark, narrow corridor. “How humiliating,” Christina thought as she made her way through the semidarkness. When she came to the end of the corridor, her eyes hurt from the bright light glowing in the hall. Armed police officers held their automatic rifles at the ready. A couple of Alsatians, their razor-sharp teeth gleaming, were straining on the leads held by their handlers. A police officer demanded to see her passport, and another came up carrying a breathalyser. He ordered Christina to breathe on a mouthpiece.
“Why should I do that? I’m not going to drive,” she said.
“We have the order not to let the intoxicated Brits enter the country. Please, do as you’ve been told,” said the police officer.
Christina breathed on the mouthpiece, and he took back the device. His forehead wrinkled and he shook his head.
“What did you drink?”
“Just a glass of wine?”
“You’re just over the limit. I could turn you back, but I’ll be kind this time and let you go. But don’t drink the next time; otherwise you’ll not enter the EU.”
Just as she felt relieved, Christina heard a woman’s voice behind her crying, “Please, let me go. I’ve drank just two cans of lager. I’m not drunk.”
She turned around to see a young woman, her face bloated with tears, pleading with a police officer who shoved the breathalyzer into her face.
“See how much you’re over the limit. The law is clear: no drunken Brits in the EU!”
He hardly finished his sentence when the two security guards grabbed the woman by her arms and led her to the side door with the sign DEPORTATION. Her howling and pleading brought Christina on the verge of tears. She wished to help the young woman, but she was powerless. What she saw made her furious, and she promised herself as soon as she was back in the UK, she would order the special treatment for EU citizens on all UK airports. Let them suffer and be insulted just as her citizens had been. Let them know that the UK is still a great power that always fights to win.
She proceeded to Customs Control, where she was told to open her briefcase. A customs officer picked a pair of knickers, white with pink floral patterns and held it demonstratively for everyone to see them. Christina blushed. This was a humiliation beyond imagination. He searched inside her briefcase again and took out more underwear.
“How long are you going to stay in the EU?” He stressed the last word, giving her a cold stare.
“I’m here for a conference. I’m planning to stay a week.”
“A week? And you have only four pair of knickers?”
“I think that’s enough. If I need more I can go to a shop and buy.”
He clicked his tongue disapprovingly and shook his head but said nothing. Soon, his fingers held three pearl necklaces in front of her eyes.
“And these? Smuggling gold and diamonds?”
“They’re for the conference. I like to wear necklaces.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said. “We need to body search you.”
Two large women security guards grabbed her by her arms and lifted her off the floor as if she were a doll. Christina pleaded with them to let her go, but the security guards showed no mercy. They opened the door and threw her inside a room. In an instant, dozens of naked women with mad looks in their eyes surrounded her, touching her face, arms and legs. Her body shook, but she was paralysed with fear. Then the hands tore at her expensive designer dress, her diamond-encrusted shoes, her ashen-grey hair and her necklace, causing the pearls to fly and scatter around. Christina let out a terrible scream...
“Aaaah!” Paul shrieked and jolted upright in bed. “Christina, where are you?”
“Darling, everything is OK. I had just a bad dream. Go back to sleep, my boy.”
With his Mickey Mouse pyjamas, dishevelled hair and drowsy face, he looked like a child, so innocent, naive and fragile. Her motherly instinct immediately took over, and she patted his hair and kissed his forehead while singing a lullaby. When he drifted off, she lay quietly in bed, listening to the raindrops pattering on the windowsill. Dawn was breaking through a gap in the curtains. Another gloomy London day was begining, filled with more temptations, battles, arguments, heated discussions and infighting. She was in charge but was clueless as what to do next. She was bluffing like a poker player, hoping for a stroke of luck. She was alone in a haunted house, groping in darkness, praying that someone take her out. She was a little girl thrown into the hard world of grown-ups who were never loved, never played fair.
The wailing of an ambulance in the distance interrupted her thoughts. She hoped nobody was killed this time, no young life had been cut short. She closed her eyes and muttered, “We are alone but stronger than ever,” and her fists clenched defiantly.
THE END
As she came out of the plane, Christina was disappointed that nobody had been waiting for her. She expected to see Mrs Muffin dressed in a dirndl and holding a sign “Welcome Christina”, but she must have felt snubbed because Christina never agreed to any or her proposals, although Mrs Muffin tried to convince her she wished her country only well. She was long in politics to know that behind generosity and kindness there must be some ulterior motives that often come out when it is too late. Mrs Muffin had given her smiles and patted her friendly on her shoulder on previous occasions, but Christina felt she couldn’t be trusted, and neither could be other EU leaders.
The arrivals hall was buzzing with passengers, queuing in three lines. To the right, the sign said, EU CITIZENS, in the middle, OTHERS, and to the left, hardly visible from distance, UK CITIZENS ONLY. The sign for the UK citizens was placed so low that you had to bend yourself to pass under it and enter a dark, narrow corridor. “How humiliating,” Christina thought as she made her way through the semidarkness. When she came to the end of the corridor, her eyes hurt from the bright light glowing in the hall. Armed police officers held their automatic rifles at the ready. A couple of Alsatians, their razor-sharp teeth gleaming, were straining on the leads held by their handlers. A police officer demanded to see her passport, and another came up carrying a breathalyser. He ordered Christina to breathe on a mouthpiece.
“Why should I do that? I’m not going to drive,” she said.
“We have the order not to let the intoxicated Brits enter the country. Please, do as you’ve been told,” said the police officer.
Christina breathed on the mouthpiece, and he took back the device. His forehead wrinkled and he shook his head.
“What did you drink?”
“Just a glass of wine?”
“You’re just over the limit. I could turn you back, but I’ll be kind this time and let you go. But don’t drink the next time; otherwise you’ll not enter the EU.”
Just as she felt relieved, Christina heard a woman’s voice behind her crying, “Please, let me go. I’ve drank just two cans of lager. I’m not drunk.”
She turned around to see a young woman, her face bloated with tears, pleading with a police officer who shoved the breathalyzer into her face.
“See how much you’re over the limit. The law is clear: no drunken Brits in the EU!”
He hardly finished his sentence when the two security guards grabbed the woman by her arms and led her to the side door with the sign DEPORTATION. Her howling and pleading brought Christina on the verge of tears. She wished to help the young woman, but she was powerless. What she saw made her furious, and she promised herself as soon as she was back in the UK, she would order the special treatment for EU citizens on all UK airports. Let them suffer and be insulted just as her citizens had been. Let them know that the UK is still a great power that always fights to win.
She proceeded to Customs Control, where she was told to open her briefcase. A customs officer picked a pair of knickers, white with pink floral patterns and held it demonstratively for everyone to see them. Christina blushed. This was a humiliation beyond imagination. He searched inside her briefcase again and took out more underwear.
“How long are you going to stay in the EU?” He stressed the last word, giving her a cold stare.
“I’m here for a conference. I’m planning to stay a week.”
“A week? And you have only four pair of knickers?”
“I think that’s enough. If I need more I can go to a shop and buy.”
He clicked his tongue disapprovingly and shook his head but said nothing. Soon, his fingers held three pearl necklaces in front of her eyes.
“And these? Smuggling gold and diamonds?”
“They’re for the conference. I like to wear necklaces.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said. “We need to body search you.”
Two large women security guards grabbed her by her arms and lifted her off the floor as if she were a doll. Christina pleaded with them to let her go, but the security guards showed no mercy. They opened the door and threw her inside a room. In an instant, dozens of naked women with mad looks in their eyes surrounded her, touching her face, arms and legs. Her body shook, but she was paralysed with fear. Then the hands tore at her expensive designer dress, her diamond-encrusted shoes, her ashen-grey hair and her necklace, causing the pearls to fly and scatter around. Christina let out a terrible scream...
“Aaaah!” Paul shrieked and jolted upright in bed. “Christina, where are you?”
“Darling, everything is OK. I had just a bad dream. Go back to sleep, my boy.”
With his Mickey Mouse pyjamas, dishevelled hair and drowsy face, he looked like a child, so innocent, naive and fragile. Her motherly instinct immediately took over, and she patted his hair and kissed his forehead while singing a lullaby. When he drifted off, she lay quietly in bed, listening to the raindrops pattering on the windowsill. Dawn was breaking through a gap in the curtains. Another gloomy London day was begining, filled with more temptations, battles, arguments, heated discussions and infighting. She was in charge but was clueless as what to do next. She was bluffing like a poker player, hoping for a stroke of luck. She was alone in a haunted house, groping in darkness, praying that someone take her out. She was a little girl thrown into the hard world of grown-ups who were never loved, never played fair.
The wailing of an ambulance in the distance interrupted her thoughts. She hoped nobody was killed this time, no young life had been cut short. She closed her eyes and muttered, “We are alone but stronger than ever,” and her fists clenched defiantly.
THE END
