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 this short text? I wrote in in one go, just as an exercise.
Michael watched his girlfriend Gina sew a button on his shirt, fumbling with the needle. "She was never going to make it," he thought. It was embarrassing to watch her chubby fingers clumsily holding both the button and the needle, squinting at them as if she were shortsighted, her tongue stuck between her lips in concentration. Michael became impatient and pulled the shirt out of her hands. He sat at the table and started sewing. Gina looked at him like a child from whom someone had taken her toy.
"My mother told me once not to marry a woman who doesn't know how to bake bread, doesn't clean the house at least once a week and doesn't know how to sew a button," he said.
Gina, sitting on the edge of the bed, gave him a sharp glance. "I think you should marry your mother, for apparently she ticks all the right boxes."
Michael stopped sewing and looked up. "Don't you ever mention my mother. She is a proper woman and a mother. I've never heard her complaining about anything, unlike you, who complains all the time."
"Maybe if you were a real man, I wouldn't complain so much. You are worthless in bed."
He felt as if acid was running through his body, burning him all over. The vein on his temple was pulsing, the sign he was going to explode soon. He knew if that happened, Gina wouldn't survive his beatings and he would end up behind the bars for decades. He pushed these terrible thoughts away and concentrated on the tip of the needle as it passed through the buttonholes. He knew it would be best if he could leave her for ever, but he didn't have the courage. The day he left, she would return to drugs and alcohol and would be dead within a decade.
He put the shirt on, walked to the mirror in the hall and did up all the buttons. Pink suited his olive complexion. He stared at himself thinking that he could have chosen between dozens of well-educated women, one more beautiful than the other, but she chose Gina, who didn't even finished high-school. He didn't loved her as a woman. She was like a strange creature, who didn't belong to either male or female, but something in between. She was plain, but her mind was sharp. She could bite back at him like a vicious dog and make him furious. It was this constant tension between them that keep them together. They were two scorpions tied in a constant fight, until their last breath.
THE END
Michael watched his girlfriend Gina sew a button on his shirt, fumbling with the needle. "She was never going to make it," he thought. It was embarrassing to watch her chubby fingers clumsily holding both the button and the needle, squinting at them as if she were shortsighted, her tongue stuck between her lips in concentration. Michael became impatient and pulled the shirt out of her hands. He sat at the table and started sewing. Gina looked at him like a child from whom someone had taken her toy.
"My mother told me once not to marry a woman who doesn't know how to bake bread, doesn't clean the house at least once a week and doesn't know how to sew a button," he said.
Gina, sitting on the edge of the bed, gave him a sharp glance. "I think you should marry your mother, for apparently she ticks all the right boxes."
Michael stopped sewing and looked up. "Don't you ever mention my mother. She is a proper woman and a mother. I've never heard her complaining about anything, unlike you, who complains all the time."
"Maybe if you were a real man, I wouldn't complain so much. You are worthless in bed."
He felt as if acid was running through his body, burning him all over. The vein on his temple was pulsing, the sign he was going to explode soon. He knew if that happened, Gina wouldn't survive his beatings and he would end up behind the bars for decades. He pushed these terrible thoughts away and concentrated on the tip of the needle as it passed through the buttonholes. He knew it would be best if he could leave her for ever, but he didn't have the courage. The day he left, she would return to drugs and alcohol and would be dead within a decade.
He put the shirt on, walked to the mirror in the hall and did up all the buttons. Pink suited his olive complexion. He stared at himself thinking that he could have chosen between dozens of well-educated women, one more beautiful than the other, but she chose Gina, who didn't even finished high-school. He didn't loved her as a woman. She was like a strange creature, who didn't belong to either male or female, but something in between. She was plain, but her mind was sharp. She could bite back at him like a vicious dog and make him furious. It was this constant tension between them that keep them together. They were two scorpions tied in a constant fight, until their last breath.
THE END
