Falsafa
06-12-2008, 05:27 PM
My native tongue is Polish, however I am supposed to be fluent in English. I recently started writing more in English and even sending texts to contests. But what I would like to now is this - is my style okay, or can you really tell I am strugling?
Below I post a piece of one of my stories. WARNING: It's science fiction. ;)
“Is Tyler asleep, honey?” asked Brenda.
“Yes, I think so,” replied Roman with his thick Polish accent.
They lay silent for a few long moments. The room was dark, and the only sound was the low hum of life support. Brenda stroked her husband’s bushy beard tenderly, thinking about sleeping, but not really feeling drowsy.
“Can we open the shades to look at Earth a little?” she asked.
“I don’t feel like it right now,” replied Roman, “It makes me nostalgic--“ and then: “I worry about our son, you know?”
“This time you mean Tyler, don’t you? What worries you, my love?”
“He has never seen Earth in real life. He never walked on wet grass, or played soccer in the outdoors. How can a child be brought up like this? Is he going to be normal? Or one of those crazy off-worlders with no roots?”
Brenda could sense that he was frowning. She lay her small hand on his ample tummy and spoke gently;
“He has his roots. They are here, on the Moon. He is not some off-worlder, born on a barge on its way to Jupiter--he’s a Lunarian.”
“You sound like it’s something to be proud of,” he sneered, and then, in a different tone: “But, I mean, every kid should see the real world.”
Now Brenda laughed.
“You are so old-fashioned, Roman. Like a relic of the old times, pre-colonization. You glorify the old, try to fill our son’s head with old-time music and outdated ideas. Are you gonna say that if God wanted us to be on different planets, he would have put us there?”
Roman felt embarrassed and a little angry. “I am not saying any of that, and you know it. A job like this was our only chance for a decent income these days. You don’t find so many mines back on Earth, you know. Not with all the environmental bellymaking.”
“That’s bellyaching, you doofus.”
They both laughed now. He wrapped his strong arms around her and they tumbled a little. Finally, they ended up in a warm embrace, Roman stroking his wife’s hair as she pressed her face against his chest.
“I’m sure Tyler will be fine,” she murmured, falling asleep.
Below I post a piece of one of my stories. WARNING: It's science fiction. ;)
“Is Tyler asleep, honey?” asked Brenda.
“Yes, I think so,” replied Roman with his thick Polish accent.
They lay silent for a few long moments. The room was dark, and the only sound was the low hum of life support. Brenda stroked her husband’s bushy beard tenderly, thinking about sleeping, but not really feeling drowsy.
“Can we open the shades to look at Earth a little?” she asked.
“I don’t feel like it right now,” replied Roman, “It makes me nostalgic--“ and then: “I worry about our son, you know?”
“This time you mean Tyler, don’t you? What worries you, my love?”
“He has never seen Earth in real life. He never walked on wet grass, or played soccer in the outdoors. How can a child be brought up like this? Is he going to be normal? Or one of those crazy off-worlders with no roots?”
Brenda could sense that he was frowning. She lay her small hand on his ample tummy and spoke gently;
“He has his roots. They are here, on the Moon. He is not some off-worlder, born on a barge on its way to Jupiter--he’s a Lunarian.”
“You sound like it’s something to be proud of,” he sneered, and then, in a different tone: “But, I mean, every kid should see the real world.”
Now Brenda laughed.
“You are so old-fashioned, Roman. Like a relic of the old times, pre-colonization. You glorify the old, try to fill our son’s head with old-time music and outdated ideas. Are you gonna say that if God wanted us to be on different planets, he would have put us there?”
Roman felt embarrassed and a little angry. “I am not saying any of that, and you know it. A job like this was our only chance for a decent income these days. You don’t find so many mines back on Earth, you know. Not with all the environmental bellymaking.”
“That’s bellyaching, you doofus.”
They both laughed now. He wrapped his strong arms around her and they tumbled a little. Finally, they ended up in a warm embrace, Roman stroking his wife’s hair as she pressed her face against his chest.
“I’m sure Tyler will be fine,” she murmured, falling asleep.