Bassim
VIP Member
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2008
- Member Type
- Student or Learner
- Native Language
- Bosnian
- Home Country
- Bosnia Herzegovina
- Current Location
- Sweden
Have I made any mistakes? This is just a writing exercise.
On the evening before the general election, the prime minister went contentedly to sleep, confident of wining it, but in the night he had a strange dream. He was standing on a parapet of a castle dressed in full armour, a gold sword in his hand. He looked at the horizon where dawn was turning the sky pink. He awaited the news from the battlefield. The castle was shrouded in silence, broken by the neighing of horses and the crowing of cocks. Suddenly he saw a black spot, which after a few seconds took the form of a rider. The prime minister's heart raced with excitement. He climbed down and went to meet the messenger. The black horse was covered in white foam and seemed to be at the end of its limits. The messenger, drenched in sweat, fell to his knees in the dust. He looked up at him and said in a plaintive voice "My Lord, we lost. The barbarians are coming!" The prime minister gave a cry like a bear hit by a giant bullet. He woke up, shaking, a pool of sweat under his massive body.
"What's going on?" his little wife asked, her frail body looking like a child's compared to him.
"I had a nightmare. Never had such a horrible nightmare in my life. I'm going to lose the election." His body was still shaking.
"There, there, " she said, patting his enormous ox-like head with her small hand. She got up. "I'm going to make us some tea." Before she left the room, she turned and said, "If you lose, so what? Are you going to lose your virility too?" Usually, he would laugh at her remarks, but this time he was still in that strange dream, looking at the distance from where the barbarians were going to come, capture his castle, arrest him, and in the end, flay him alive.
On the evening before the general election, the prime minister went contentedly to sleep, confident of wining it, but in the night he had a strange dream. He was standing on a parapet of a castle dressed in full armour, a gold sword in his hand. He looked at the horizon where dawn was turning the sky pink. He awaited the news from the battlefield. The castle was shrouded in silence, broken by the neighing of horses and the crowing of cocks. Suddenly he saw a black spot, which after a few seconds took the form of a rider. The prime minister's heart raced with excitement. He climbed down and went to meet the messenger. The black horse was covered in white foam and seemed to be at the end of its limits. The messenger, drenched in sweat, fell to his knees in the dust. He looked up at him and said in a plaintive voice "My Lord, we lost. The barbarians are coming!" The prime minister gave a cry like a bear hit by a giant bullet. He woke up, shaking, a pool of sweat under his massive body.
"What's going on?" his little wife asked, her frail body looking like a child's compared to him.
"I had a nightmare. Never had such a horrible nightmare in my life. I'm going to lose the election." His body was still shaking.
"There, there, " she said, patting his enormous ox-like head with her small hand. She got up. "I'm going to make us some tea." Before she left the room, she turned and said, "If you lose, so what? Are you going to lose your virility too?" Usually, he would laugh at her remarks, but this time he was still in that strange dream, looking at the distance from where the barbarians were going to come, capture his castle, arrest him, and in the end, flay him alive.
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