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 my short story. I wrote it as an exercise, in one go.
Just as his first, Clive's second wife used to buy fresh flowers twice a week. They cost a lot, and it pained him to see that they all ended up in a waste bin. He mustered the courage for weeks to tell Laura she should be more careful with money.
"What do you mean more careful?" Laura gave him a murderous glare. "It's my money. I can do whatever I want."
"Of course, you can," he said. "I can also buy three cars and drive around all day and night and have some fun, but I'll never do that because I'm thinking of you. Do you know what it means to be married?"
"No, I don't. Please tell me," she said, feigning scorn. She was a head taller than he and stared at Clive like a headmistress at a naughty boy, contemplating his punishment.
"It means sharing and supporting each other," Clive said in a shaky voice.
"That's the past." Laura said. "Since we feminists came to power, new winds are blowing - winds of change and liberty. No more sharing, my dear, only enjoying life to the full." Her blue eyes were ablaze with excitement.
"I understand that," he said. "But couldn't you use plastic flowers instead? They look just the same."
"What! Laura screamed. "Now when the whole word is getting rid of plastic you want me to buy artificial flower instead? Never!"
Late in the evening, as Laura was snoring contentedly and probably dreaming one of her feminist dreams, Clive climbed out bed and went into the kitchen where he switched on a laptop and went on the internet. "How to deal with an overbearing wife?" he typed in the search bar and spent the whole night learning useful tips and tricks.
In the morning when Laura woke up, she turned to him and asked, "Why do you look so smug? Did you dream something funny?"
"Oh no," Clive said, rubbing his hands under the duvet. "Just ordinary stuff. I'm going to make us some tea." He got up, filled up the kettle and put it on to boil. Laura would soon go out to buy fresh bread and other food and hopefully met some of her friends and spent hours in a cafe. In the meantime, he would go on the internet and learn more. If that didn't help, he would have no choice but to do her what he had done to Samantha. A lovely boat outing at sea, an accident, the overturned boat, a failed life jacket, such a tragedy... But this was the last option. He would like to keep her alive. A former gymnast, Laura had still an attractive body despite her sixty eight years. And she liked to cook. But so did Samantha too. How strange that they both were obsessed with fresh flowers.
Just as his first, Clive's second wife used to buy fresh flowers twice a week. They cost a lot, and it pained him to see that they all ended up in a waste bin. He mustered the courage for weeks to tell Laura she should be more careful with money.
"What do you mean more careful?" Laura gave him a murderous glare. "It's my money. I can do whatever I want."
"Of course, you can," he said. "I can also buy three cars and drive around all day and night and have some fun, but I'll never do that because I'm thinking of you. Do you know what it means to be married?"
"No, I don't. Please tell me," she said, feigning scorn. She was a head taller than he and stared at Clive like a headmistress at a naughty boy, contemplating his punishment.
"It means sharing and supporting each other," Clive said in a shaky voice.
"That's the past." Laura said. "Since we feminists came to power, new winds are blowing - winds of change and liberty. No more sharing, my dear, only enjoying life to the full." Her blue eyes were ablaze with excitement.
"I understand that," he said. "But couldn't you use plastic flowers instead? They look just the same."
"What! Laura screamed. "Now when the whole word is getting rid of plastic you want me to buy artificial flower instead? Never!"
Late in the evening, as Laura was snoring contentedly and probably dreaming one of her feminist dreams, Clive climbed out bed and went into the kitchen where he switched on a laptop and went on the internet. "How to deal with an overbearing wife?" he typed in the search bar and spent the whole night learning useful tips and tricks.
In the morning when Laura woke up, she turned to him and asked, "Why do you look so smug? Did you dream something funny?"
"Oh no," Clive said, rubbing his hands under the duvet. "Just ordinary stuff. I'm going to make us some tea." He got up, filled up the kettle and put it on to boil. Laura would soon go out to buy fresh bread and other food and hopefully met some of her friends and spent hours in a cafe. In the meantime, he would go on the internet and learn more. If that didn't help, he would have no choice but to do her what he had done to Samantha. A lovely boat outing at sea, an accident, the overturned boat, a failed life jacket, such a tragedy... But this was the last option. He would like to keep her alive. A former gymnast, Laura had still an attractive body despite her sixty eight years. And she liked to cook. But so did Samantha too. How strange that they both were obsessed with fresh flowers.
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