The stranger, part four

Bassim

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Would you please correct the mistakes in the fourth part of my short story?

I had a bad night. Disturbing thoughts wouldn’t give me peace. I was afraid the thugs would form a mob and go to the hotel, seeking revenge. In my mind, I saw them forcing their way into the lobby and taking the stairs two at a time, fuelled by hatred. They surrounded the stranger and beat him with their clubs, metal bars and chains until they smashed his handsome face and made it unrecognizable. Then they went to the pub to celebrate the victory. The threat of beauty had been eliminated. Long live ugliness!

In the morning, I hurried to the bus stop near the hotel, as I had done all the mornings since I saw the stranger, and I waited for him. I had a premonition that I would never seen him again, although I hoped and prayed to see him walking out of the door carrying his laptop and walking down the walkway to his favourite bench. I had sat there for a long time, and every time the door opened, I jumped only to be disappointed again. And then when I started feeling exhausted, the door opened and he walked out, carrying a suitcase. This time he was dressed in dark colours: a dark brown cap, and a jacket and trousers of the similar colour. He put the suitcase beside him and glanced towards the road. If he had looked to the right, he would have seen a girl with long black hair staring intently at him. He would have maybe got interested in her and wanted to talk to her. But my wishes did not materialise. His eyes shifted from the road to his watch, and I got an impression he wished to go away as soon as possible. The door opened again and the old couple I saw the first time stepped outside.

“Oh, you are leaving?” asked the woman.
“Yes. I don’t feel welcome in this town anymore,” the stranger replied. “
“Sorry to hear that. Hopefully nothing serious?”
“Some unpleasant things which made me change my mind.”
The woman’s husband joined in. He pointed his walking stick towards the street and said, “We’ve been coming to this town for more than 30 years. Lately, I noticed how people have changed. They’re whinging all the time. You can get sick just by listening to them. I want to tell them to go and make a revolution or shut up.”
“Don’t tell them,” the stranger said. “They don’t like to hear the truth.”

They shook hands and wished each other luck. The old couple shuffled down the street while he stood looking after them and glanced at his watch. He was turning his head side to side, and suddenly, our eyes met. I gave him a bright smile, but he shot me a glare. His dark eyes looked angry and hurt, as if all the insults and invectives he was subjected to were now emanating from them. After a few seconds, he turned his head away, leaving me feeling embarrassed. My face flushed, and I wanted to run away. Then a taxi arrived. The driver got out to put the stranger’s suitcase into the boot, while he climbed into the passenger’s seat. They drove off and I followed them with my eyes until the car became a dot and vanished.

My stomach hurt as if someone kicked me with full force. Feelings of abandonment and loneliness came over me and made me anxious. I did’t dare return home, in case I met my mother. I decided to go to the shore and seek consolation in the sea. It was a bright morning and the town bathed in sunshine. The previous days as I walked back home, I enjoyed the scenes in the streets: colourful flowers in baskets hanging on the lampposts and in the window boxes; the smell of the baked bread from the bakery; the soft music wafting out of cafes and restaurants; the hustle and bustle of the supermarket; the street sweepers in their orange jackets who would wish me good morning and banter with me. But this time I saw nothing. Everything around me was an impenetrable darkness. I could not remember how I arrived to the shore without being hit by a car or some other vehicle. I opened my eyes and gazed at the calm sparkling sea. Tears ran down my face. Sobs racked my body.

Sorrow grew upon me. I cried for the people who insulted the stranger; for all those who could not see beyond their little world; I cried for my mother and her drinking as an escape from reality. I cried for my 14 year-old who was buffeted like a sapling in the cruel world.
I washed my face in the salty water, but tears ran on and on, as if the well of grief was inexhaustible. I saw the stranger in my mind’s eye, and the feeling of loss was overwhelming. I felt like an orphan abandoned by parents. My sorrow turned into anger. I was a coward. I should have overcome my shyness. A few words could have changed my destiny, but I was insecure because I grew up in a home without a father. As the wavelets lapped my feet, I knew I was at the beginning of a long journey. I had to heed the inner call. I was going to search for him relentlessly and turn the world upside down until I found that pair of dark eyes which would tell me I belonged to him.
THE END
 
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teechar

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English Teacher
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Would you please correct the mistakes in the fourth part of my short story?

I had a bad night. Disturbing thoughts wouldn’t give me peace. I was afraid the thugs would form a mob and go to the hotel, seeking revenge. In my mind, I saw them forcing their way into the lobby and taking the stairs two at a time, fuelled by hatred. They surrounded the stranger and beat him with their clubs, metal bars and chains until they smashed his handsome face and made it unrecognizable. Then they went to the pub to celebrate the victory. They eliminated the threat of beauty. [STRIKE]had been eliminated.[/STRIKE] Long live ugliness!

In the morning, I hurried to the bus stop near the hotel, as I had done [STRIKE]all the[/STRIKE] every morning since I saw the stranger, and I waited for him. I had a premonition that I would never seen him again, although I hoped and prayed to see him walking out of the [STRIKE]door[/STRIKE] hotel carrying his laptop and [STRIKE]walking[/STRIKE] going down the walkway to his favourite bench. I [STRIKE]had[/STRIKE] sat there for a long time, and every time the door opened, I jumped, only to be disappointed again. But just as I was about to give up, [STRIKE]And then when I started feeling exhausted,[/STRIKE] the door opened and he walked out, carrying a suitcase. This time he was dressed in dark colours: a dark brown cap, and a jacket and trousers of [STRIKE]the similar[/STRIKE] the same/a similar colour. He put the suitcase [STRIKE]beside him[/STRIKE] down and glanced towards the road. If he had looked to the right, he would have seen a girl with long black hair staring intently at him. He would have maybe got interested in her and wanted to talk to her. But my wishes did not materialise. His eyes shifted from the road to his watch, and I got [STRIKE]an[/STRIKE] the impression he wished to go away as soon as possible. The door opened again and the old couple I saw the first time stepped outside.

“Oh, you are leaving?” asked the woman.
“Yes. I don’t feel welcome in this town anymore,” the stranger replied. “
“Sorry to hear that. Hopefully nothing serious?”
“Some unpleasant things which made me change my mind.”
The woman’s husband joined in. He pointed his walking stick towards the street and said, “We’ve been coming to this town for more than 30 years. Lately, I noticed how people have changed. They’re whinging all the time. You can get sick just by listening to them. I want to tell them to go and [STRIKE]make[/STRIKE] start a revolution or shut up.”
“Don’t tell them,” the stranger said. “They don’t like to hear the truth.”

They shook hands and wished each other good luck. The old couple shuffled down the street while he stood looking [STRIKE]after[/STRIKE] at them and glancing at his watch. He was turning his head side to side, and suddenly, our eyes met. I gave him a bright smile, but he shot me a glare. His dark eyes looked angry and hurt, as if all the insults and invectives he was subjected to were now emanating from them. After a few seconds, he turned his head away, leaving me feeling embarrassed. My face flushed, and I wanted to run away. Then a taxi arrived. The driver got out to put the stranger’s suitcase into the boot, while he climbed into the passenger seat. They drove off, and I followed them with my eyes until the car became a dot and vanished.

My stomach hurt as if someone kicked me with full force. Feelings of abandonment and loneliness came over me and made me anxious. I didn’t dare return home, in case I met my mother on the way. I decided to go to the shore and seek consolation in the sea. It was a bright morning and the town bathed in sunshine. The previous days as I walked back home, I had enjoyed the scenes in the streets: colourful flowers in baskets hanging on the lampposts and in [STRIKE]the[/STRIKE] window boxes; the smell of [STRIKE]the[/STRIKE] freshly baked bread from the bakery; the soft music wafting out of cafes and restaurants; the hustle and bustle of the supermarket; the street sweepers in their orange jackets who [STRIKE]would[/STRIKE] wished me good morning and bantered with me. But this time, I saw nothing. Everything around me was an impenetrable darkness. I could not remember how I [STRIKE]arrived[/STRIKE] got to the shore without being hit by a car or some other vehicle. I opened my eyes and gazed at the calm sparkling sea. Tears ran down my face. Sobs racked my body.

Sorrow grew upon me. I cried for the people who insulted the stranger; for all those who could not see beyond their little world; I cried for my mother and her drinking as an escape from reality. I cried for my 14 year-old self who was buffeted like a sapling in the cruel world.
I washed my face in the salty water, but my tears ran on and on, as if the well of grief was inexhaustible. I saw the stranger in my mind’s eye, and the feeling of loss was overwhelming. I felt like an abandoned orphan. [STRIKE]abandoned by parents.[/STRIKE] My sorrow turned into anger. I was a coward. I should have overcome my shyness. A few words could have changed my destiny, but I was insecure because I grew up in a home without a father. As the wavelets lapped my feet, I knew I was at the beginning of a long journey. I had to heed the inner call. I was going to search for him [Do you mean the father or the stranger?] relentlessly and turn the world upside down until I found that pair of dark eyes which would tell me I belonged to him.
THE END
.
 

Bassim

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Joined
Mar 1, 2008
Member Type
Student or Learner
Native Language
Bosnian
Home Country
Bosnia Herzegovina
Current Location
Sweden
teechar,

Thank you again.
I meant to write that the girl is going to search for a father, but I let it unclear so that the readers can decide for themselves who she is going to search for. This "him" can be her father, the stranger or some other man who will love her and make her happy.
 
Last edited:

teechar

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Feb 18, 2015
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English Teacher
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English
Home Country
Iraq
Current Location
Iraq
teechar,

Thank you again.
I meant to write that the girl is going to search for her father, but I left it unclear so that the readers can decide for themselves who she is going to search for. This "him" can be her father, the stranger or some other man who will love her and make her happy.
Okay.
 
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