ENDEVINALA: Department of nothing
dijous, de desembre 02, 2004 Edit This 0 Comments »
Jejejeje, treball de busqueda bibliografica: toca>>>> llegir el text, ficar-lo al google i relacionarlo en una cosa que a mi m'agrada........ fàcil (moooooolt facil ho he provat i surt a la primera)
Something was chasing her. How could she know if she was running towards even greater danger . She couldn't, basically, so she just had to get on with it and run anyway and hope she was running in the right direction. On she strove, scraping her extremities on stumps of mighty oak and frowning yew - whereupon she came upon an ivied wall, wildly she fought for passage - and lo! By luck or grace, she fell upon a door which gave on to The Night Garden.
All moonlit and full of eerie beauty and tranquillity. Here the wind fell silent - and her pursuer seemed not to be around any more. The garden seemed to belong to a great house or castle, now mainly forgotten. All around were crumbling walls and sundials, old statues, rose trees, terrible gargoyles and stone animals. What she didn't see were little real live devilish faces poking from behind rocks. Then suddenly, standing right in front of her, there was a group of weird children. They were staring at her. One of them said, 'Who are youz?' And then, before anyone could answer, this big loud honking voice from somewhere else, suddenly shouted 'Henry!!!' which is my name.
And then there wasn't any garden or children, just me sitting next to my grandma's bed, probably late for school, smelling haddock, wishing Grandma's stories didn't have to be always interrupted. You see how annoying it is! It's more than annoying, it's irksome. In fact, it was twenty to nine and I was about five minutes away from quite a big detention if I didn't go damn sharpish. I still wanted Grandma to go on, but that's always when she gets strict and says, 'No more talking, the session is closed.'
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Through a creepy forest she ran, young Emma in her white nightie; flapping and phantasmic in the gloom of an enchanted night-storm. For it was prophesied that the only way to lift the spell was for her to find the Night Garden and take the ring from the hand of the evil Lucien Lothair who ruled all Sardorf with an iron fist and a nasty climate. In order to do this she had to run through this forest, where darkness had stolen all colour - sucked it like a vampire does.
Something was chasing her. How could she know if she was running towards even greater danger . She couldn't, basically, so she just had to get on with it and run anyway and hope she was running in the right direction. On she strove, scraping her extremities on stumps of mighty oak and frowning yew - whereupon she came upon an ivied wall, wildly she fought for passage - and lo! By luck or grace, she fell upon a door which gave on to The Night Garden.
All moonlit and full of eerie beauty and tranquillity. Here the wind fell silent - and her pursuer seemed not to be around any more. The garden seemed to belong to a great house or castle, now mainly forgotten. All around were crumbling walls and sundials, old statues, rose trees, terrible gargoyles and stone animals. What she didn't see were little real live devilish faces poking from behind rocks. Then suddenly, standing right in front of her, there was a group of weird children. They were staring at her. One of them said, 'Who are youz?' And then, before anyone could answer, this big loud honking voice from somewhere else, suddenly shouted 'Henry!!!' which is my name.
And then there wasn't any garden or children, just me sitting next to my grandma's bed, probably late for school, smelling haddock, wishing Grandma's stories didn't have to be always interrupted. You see how annoying it is! It's more than annoying, it's irksome. In fact, it was twenty to nine and I was about five minutes away from quite a big detention if I didn't go damn sharpish. I still wanted Grandma to go on, but that's always when she gets strict and says, 'No more talking, the session is closed.'
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