a little text

[Pytt]

this is a text I wrote some weeks ago, which I have thought of posting here, to get some comments from people who have english as mother language. it is not something special, just something I thought of one evening and wrote it down. My teahcer were stunned, and wasn't sure if I had written it all myself. but I have. she was very impressed, so to speak and said some norwegian students who are taking english at university have problems writing like this
so tell me what you think, and don't be kind. if you have some general mistake...

Short story


I opened my eyes. The soft, shimmering light of early morning glided in through the curtains. In my sleep I had tossed my quilt down on the floor. The smell of liquor filled the room, along with a shy, but still sweet scent from newly bought tulips. I slowly turned my head to watch the clock on the bedside table. 04.42. Drowsy I stretched out a hand, and turned on the radio. The beautiful tunes of Pink Floyd’s “Shine on you crazy diamond” filled my ears. I loved that song. I found myself humming on it, right before my eyes slid shut.

When I woke up again, the strong sunlight bathed the room, and the slight breeze of summer was throwing on the curtains. After a while, I noticed the radio. Television’s “Marquee Moon” barely reached my ear drum. The scent of tulips and liquor had been replaced by the perfume of summer. My cat, Ms. Robinson, emerged from under the cupboard. Catching mice, I guessed. After some time, I rose to sitting position and stifled a yawn. I put silently on my slippers, and bent to pick up the quilt. Ms. Robinson sat elegant on the bench, were my out-worn clothes laid. On the table, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels stood, in company with a half-filled glass. On my way past, I took up the glass, and emptied it through the window. I took up the shirt from the pile of cloths on the bench, and threw it back, with the unfriendly odor of sweat hanging in my nostrils. I took out a new shirt from the cupboard, weighted it in my hands, and placed it back again. It was too warm to be dressed although the clock had barley struck 08.

I threw on a shorts, stepped out on the veranda, and let the sunbeams entangle and warm my body. Out in front of me, the entire beach lay open and pure. When I silently jumped over the low fence to land on the grass, I noticed the birds eating the meatballs from yesterday’s supper. In a rush of feathers they threw themselves on their wings, and perched on the plum tree. Barefoot I ran down to the ocean. In never-ending waves of resemblance, and yet different, the sea hailed and cheered my appearance, and I greeted them too, and threw myself into their devastating, and in the same moment tender, careful arms. And we played with each other, and laughed.

When getting tired, I climbed out and stretched on the white beach, and felt the sun prickle my skin with cozy, shrugging warmth. After a while, I got up and walked back to the house. Out in the kitchen, I cut a white loaf in two, and with cheese and ham on both, walked back out on the veranda. The low buzzing, but never annoying, sounds of the radio created an aura of complete unity.

The palm trees shadow walked their endless walk with the sun. The breeze from the morning, gained strength in the middle of the day, as to battle the coming heat from the sun, and curled the leaves kindly. The sea hurled itself against the beach, from small, like newborn, ripples to great, roaring ones with the enhanced power of mother earth itself.

And so the day passed on. And this particular day faded, and became nothing more than a slight memory, and was remembered with many similar ones, as the best summer ever blessed upon mankind.


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