alpacinou
Key Member
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2019
- Member Type
- Interested in Language
- Native Language
- Persian
- Home Country
- Iran
- Current Location
- Iran
Is this correct and natural?
Maxim kept running in the main street. It was flanked by ruined buildings, courtesy of a five-year civil war. He bent over, gasping. Fishing out a bottle of water from his backpack, he began drinking, basking the coolness of water in his throat. He was putting the bottle back in the backpack when he heard a whoosh from the sky. He looked up, squinting under a cloudless sky, making out a jet near the horizon. Suddenly, the building to his right exploded with an ear-splitting sound. Splinters of concrete and brick cascaded down and Maxim was enveloped by a cloud of dust as he felt sharp shrapnel tear through his skin. He slammed against the ground as dust coated his tongue. He struggled to his feet but his legs gave way, and he collapsed, head-first this time. He was teetering on the edge of consciousness, his mind barely registering pain and bewilderment. The world was going black when Maxim heard a voice from deep in his psyche. She needs you. Don't you give up. He summoned all the strength he could to keep his eyes open. His hand slowly touched his shoulder, came back wet with blood. He could vaguely hear sirens, wailing in the autumn morning. Tilting his head, he saw an ambulance zoom past him. Help please. He tried to scream but no words came out. Blood continued to pulse from the wounds torn by shrapnel, spilling on the ground which was strewn by shards of glass and building fragments. Maxim heard the inner voice again. She is waiting for you to go back to her. He staggered to his feet again, shuffling towards the building on the other side of the street. The ambulance was a couple of hundred feet ahead parked in front of another building. Two men got out, running towards the bombed building. Maxim's gaze was fixed on the medics when he heard another loud explosion. The running men were showered by debris, and collapsed.
Maxim felt as though he were in a foggy nightmare, and he kept blinking in shock. The two buildings now were being swallowed by hungry flames, shooting a cloud of thick black smoke into the clear sky. The smell of burning metal and glass overwhelmed his nostrils. He tried to lift his hand to cover his nose, but every movement sent waves of pain shooting up and down his body. Maxim dragged himself through the smoldering debris and crossed the street. A breeze blew the smoke toward him, stinging his eyes and burning his lungs. to charge his phone. He stumbled past a car whose body reflected the fire and found his way to half-ruined building with a red door, hoping to find an electric socket.
Climbing the stairs, Maxim stepped into the first floor apartment. Everything was covered in a layer of grime. Oh god! There is no way there is electricity here. He tried to force away all the negative thoughts and find a functioning socket. He walked inside a bedroom and stopped dead when he saw his reflection in a console mirror. He stared at himself, his mouth slightly open. His face and clothes were blanketed with dust and blood was trickling down his forehead and drenching his shirt. I will survive this and have an interesting story to tell her, he kept telling himself.
Maxim kept running in the main street. It was flanked by ruined buildings, courtesy of a five-year civil war. He bent over, gasping. Fishing out a bottle of water from his backpack, he began drinking, basking the coolness of water in his throat. He was putting the bottle back in the backpack when he heard a whoosh from the sky. He looked up, squinting under a cloudless sky, making out a jet near the horizon. Suddenly, the building to his right exploded with an ear-splitting sound. Splinters of concrete and brick cascaded down and Maxim was enveloped by a cloud of dust as he felt sharp shrapnel tear through his skin. He slammed against the ground as dust coated his tongue. He struggled to his feet but his legs gave way, and he collapsed, head-first this time. He was teetering on the edge of consciousness, his mind barely registering pain and bewilderment. The world was going black when Maxim heard a voice from deep in his psyche. She needs you. Don't you give up. He summoned all the strength he could to keep his eyes open. His hand slowly touched his shoulder, came back wet with blood. He could vaguely hear sirens, wailing in the autumn morning. Tilting his head, he saw an ambulance zoom past him. Help please. He tried to scream but no words came out. Blood continued to pulse from the wounds torn by shrapnel, spilling on the ground which was strewn by shards of glass and building fragments. Maxim heard the inner voice again. She is waiting for you to go back to her. He staggered to his feet again, shuffling towards the building on the other side of the street. The ambulance was a couple of hundred feet ahead parked in front of another building. Two men got out, running towards the bombed building. Maxim's gaze was fixed on the medics when he heard another loud explosion. The running men were showered by debris, and collapsed.
Maxim felt as though he were in a foggy nightmare, and he kept blinking in shock. The two buildings now were being swallowed by hungry flames, shooting a cloud of thick black smoke into the clear sky. The smell of burning metal and glass overwhelmed his nostrils. He tried to lift his hand to cover his nose, but every movement sent waves of pain shooting up and down his body. Maxim dragged himself through the smoldering debris and crossed the street. A breeze blew the smoke toward him, stinging his eyes and burning his lungs. to charge his phone. He stumbled past a car whose body reflected the fire and found his way to half-ruined building with a red door, hoping to find an electric socket.
Climbing the stairs, Maxim stepped into the first floor apartment. Everything was covered in a layer of grime. Oh god! There is no way there is electricity here. He tried to force away all the negative thoughts and find a functioning socket. He walked inside a bedroom and stopped dead when he saw his reflection in a console mirror. He stared at himself, his mouth slightly open. His face and clothes were blanketed with dust and blood was trickling down his forehead and drenching his shirt. I will survive this and have an interesting story to tell her, he kept telling himself.
