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 my mistakes in the second part of my text. I apologize for using the word "old codger," which some of you may find offensive. But I have used it to make my text more realistic.
One evening after drinking tea, he felt drowsy and went to his tent earlier than usual. When he woke up, the sun was right above him, searing his skin to the bone. His head was heavy and dizzy as if he had a terrible hangover. He squinted around him but was unable to find his bearings. Where a few hours before stood the tents and an open fire, now were layers of sand. His companions had disappeared without a trace. He had to smack himself to make sure he was not dreaming. He cursed his wife for playing such a cruel game. She must have spiked his tea with sleeping pills and then ran with her young lover. She had before a few flings, he understood was the result of her restless mind. She always behaved like a spoilt child, and he forgave her every time when she came back to his arms, but this time, she shoved her evil side.
The endless sand dunes and the scorching sun made him panic. He was a typical city dweller who was used to modern conveniences and knew nothing about survival techniques, let alone about the desert. His eyes were frantically searching across this endless sea of sand for a sign of life, but found nothing. He then turned to the tent and saw that someone had placed a water jerrycan and a few tins of food close to the entrance. A piece of paper was sellotaped to the can. He took it with his shaky hands and read the following message:
You despicable old codger.
You were worthless both in bed and outside of it.
I regret spending so many years together with someone
who will always be namby-pamby.
As a politician, you liked to promote free market.
I’ve decided to put your idea into practice.
I’ve found a young lover, able to fulfil my all needs.
You used to tell people they should learn how to survive
or they will perish.
Now is your turn to prove what you are made of.
He screwed the message up and threw it onto the ground. He cursed her and wished her the most painful death. He had treated her like a queen from the very first day, lavished her with expensive presents, and invited her to fabulous travels around the world. As his companion, she had a chance to meet the greatest people on all five continents: kings, queens, presidents, prime ministers, artists, writers, scientists and leading intellectuals. She could show off her expensive collection of jewellery, shoes and handbags only thank to his money and him. If she had not married him, she would have probably ended up in a factory, working shifts at a production line for a miserable wage.
His fury and the wish to strangle her with his bare hands drove him into the desert. He had forgotten the thirst and the fatigue and shuffled through the sand in the direction he believed would finally lead him to his wife. The longer he trudged, the more his head was spinning. Soon he was walking in circles, without understanding what he was doing. Finally, he collapsed and lost consciousness. When the Bedouins found him, he was not far away from his tent, more dead than alive.
When Mr B recovered and was able to think clearly, he immediately called his solicitor and authorised him to start divorce proceedings. He contacted a few leading newspapers where he posted a following message for his wife:
“I am not going to demean myself by calling you by any derogatory names, as you had done in your message, but I want to inform you that there is no place for you in my life any more. I have decided to import an attractive 30-year-old woman from Eastern Europe, who I intend to marry, and who will later give birth to my child. I have blocked your bank accounts and your credit cards in order to prevent you to squander my hard-earned money. For the future costs of your upkeep, you can turn to your handsome camel driver. The lock of our main gate and the house door will be immediately replaced upon my arrival. Your belongings will be awaiting you packed in the black bin bags beside our main gate.
Yours,
Mr B"
THE END
One evening after drinking tea, he felt drowsy and went to his tent earlier than usual. When he woke up, the sun was right above him, searing his skin to the bone. His head was heavy and dizzy as if he had a terrible hangover. He squinted around him but was unable to find his bearings. Where a few hours before stood the tents and an open fire, now were layers of sand. His companions had disappeared without a trace. He had to smack himself to make sure he was not dreaming. He cursed his wife for playing such a cruel game. She must have spiked his tea with sleeping pills and then ran with her young lover. She had before a few flings, he understood was the result of her restless mind. She always behaved like a spoilt child, and he forgave her every time when she came back to his arms, but this time, she shoved her evil side.
The endless sand dunes and the scorching sun made him panic. He was a typical city dweller who was used to modern conveniences and knew nothing about survival techniques, let alone about the desert. His eyes were frantically searching across this endless sea of sand for a sign of life, but found nothing. He then turned to the tent and saw that someone had placed a water jerrycan and a few tins of food close to the entrance. A piece of paper was sellotaped to the can. He took it with his shaky hands and read the following message:
You despicable old codger.
You were worthless both in bed and outside of it.
I regret spending so many years together with someone
who will always be namby-pamby.
As a politician, you liked to promote free market.
I’ve decided to put your idea into practice.
I’ve found a young lover, able to fulfil my all needs.
You used to tell people they should learn how to survive
or they will perish.
Now is your turn to prove what you are made of.
He screwed the message up and threw it onto the ground. He cursed her and wished her the most painful death. He had treated her like a queen from the very first day, lavished her with expensive presents, and invited her to fabulous travels around the world. As his companion, she had a chance to meet the greatest people on all five continents: kings, queens, presidents, prime ministers, artists, writers, scientists and leading intellectuals. She could show off her expensive collection of jewellery, shoes and handbags only thank to his money and him. If she had not married him, she would have probably ended up in a factory, working shifts at a production line for a miserable wage.
His fury and the wish to strangle her with his bare hands drove him into the desert. He had forgotten the thirst and the fatigue and shuffled through the sand in the direction he believed would finally lead him to his wife. The longer he trudged, the more his head was spinning. Soon he was walking in circles, without understanding what he was doing. Finally, he collapsed and lost consciousness. When the Bedouins found him, he was not far away from his tent, more dead than alive.
When Mr B recovered and was able to think clearly, he immediately called his solicitor and authorised him to start divorce proceedings. He contacted a few leading newspapers where he posted a following message for his wife:
“I am not going to demean myself by calling you by any derogatory names, as you had done in your message, but I want to inform you that there is no place for you in my life any more. I have decided to import an attractive 30-year-old woman from Eastern Europe, who I intend to marry, and who will later give birth to my child. I have blocked your bank accounts and your credit cards in order to prevent you to squander my hard-earned money. For the future costs of your upkeep, you can turn to your handsome camel driver. The lock of our main gate and the house door will be immediately replaced upon my arrival. Your belongings will be awaiting you packed in the black bin bags beside our main gate.
Yours,
Mr B"
THE END
