Меня попросили написать рассказ по английскому, используя какие-то там юридические слова. И вот что из этого вышло. Думаю сесть за курс экзистенциальных топиков и сочинений по английскому языку хотя бы для школьников.
It was a stormy night. The rain was pouring down heavily. The holes in his shoes annoyed John no more. He was down to his last cigarette, and the fact that he could smoke it, covering it from the rain by his hat, warmed his heart a bit. Jon's life was meaningless to him, and this drop o' nicotine in his blood was his last joy for a long time. John had no job. The last possible was lost. He was fired for employee theft from a canned fish warehouse. Though the smell there was intolerable and payment was a sad joke, it was the last chance. Shoplifting was a hard way as well, for every shopkeeper knew him, and his intentions.
The rain became heavier and John was walking down the skid row. The man was wet, tired and desparate. Empty windows of abandoned factories were staring at him with silent scorn. John knew he deserved it. He could not even get money like many men in the district. The knifepoint in the prison shower still waked John at night, even though the memory blocked, what was further then. He did not want to go back there, thus he was to afraid to earn for living by typical business of the location: burglary, robbery, carjacking and pick pocketing. John had no guts for another crime, no chance to earn fairly, no future and no escape.
Walking by the 24 hours shop John saw the familiar shopkeeper down on the floor with a bullet between his eyes. A masked man was grabbing money into the sack, a pistol with a silencer was on the desk nearby. Armed robbery was no news for anyone, who had to spend nights in the streets. Everybody knew the lifesaving formula: "turn round and walk away". But John was standing there, staring at a dead man and blood flowing on the floor. He did not pay attention to a getaway car and a man with a rifle. When John turned round he only saw a gunpoint, a flash of a strange light and heard the thunderlike crack. The bullet pierced him through and broke the shop window. Te alarm screamed and the signal to the police station ran through the phone lines.
Raiders knew, they had little time, they jumped into the car, dropping some loot and disappeared in the rainy night. John was standing on knees, the cigarette dropped out of his mouth. He slid down the wall. The pain was paralyzing all the body, flowing through every nerve. John cared no more, he did not even try to stop the blood. Before the gun wound he was hit by the black despair. He had nothing to live for, nothing to struggle for. John closed his eyes and dropped his head on the chest. The police siren sounded far away, and it was the last sound John has ever heard. The cold in his breath became intolerable. He passed away never to return again.
It was a stormy night. The rain was pouring down heavily. The holes in his shoes annoyed John no more. He was down to his last cigarette, and the fact that he could smoke it, covering it from the rain by his hat, warmed his heart a bit. Jon's life was meaningless to him, and this drop o' nicotine in his blood was his last joy for a long time. John had no job. The last possible was lost. He was fired for employee theft from a canned fish warehouse. Though the smell there was intolerable and payment was a sad joke, it was the last chance. Shoplifting was a hard way as well, for every shopkeeper knew him, and his intentions.
The rain became heavier and John was walking down the skid row. The man was wet, tired and desparate. Empty windows of abandoned factories were staring at him with silent scorn. John knew he deserved it. He could not even get money like many men in the district. The knifepoint in the prison shower still waked John at night, even though the memory blocked, what was further then. He did not want to go back there, thus he was to afraid to earn for living by typical business of the location: burglary, robbery, carjacking and pick pocketing. John had no guts for another crime, no chance to earn fairly, no future and no escape.
Walking by the 24 hours shop John saw the familiar shopkeeper down on the floor with a bullet between his eyes. A masked man was grabbing money into the sack, a pistol with a silencer was on the desk nearby. Armed robbery was no news for anyone, who had to spend nights in the streets. Everybody knew the lifesaving formula: "turn round and walk away". But John was standing there, staring at a dead man and blood flowing on the floor. He did not pay attention to a getaway car and a man with a rifle. When John turned round he only saw a gunpoint, a flash of a strange light and heard the thunderlike crack. The bullet pierced him through and broke the shop window. Te alarm screamed and the signal to the police station ran through the phone lines.
Raiders knew, they had little time, they jumped into the car, dropping some loot and disappeared in the rainy night. John was standing on knees, the cigarette dropped out of his mouth. He slid down the wall. The pain was paralyzing all the body, flowing through every nerve. John cared no more, he did not even try to stop the blood. Before the gun wound he was hit by the black despair. He had nothing to live for, nothing to struggle for. John closed his eyes and dropped his head on the chest. The police siren sounded far away, and it was the last sound John has ever heard. The cold in his breath became intolerable. He passed away never to return again.
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12.03.2013 в 00:30