viernes, 29 de octubre de 2010

A pessimistic story.

My name is Daniel and I will tell you my tragic story. I work in a restaurant and I like painting and drawing pictures.

I had two children, Eustaquio and Casimiro. The first was tall like a pine and he sang in a choir. Casimiro was totally clever and his hobbie was sculpting iron figures. Eustaquio died because he crossed the road and a car that was going very fast, ran over him. Two days later, my son Casimiro fell down a huge tree while I was sleeping. For their funeral, I stole Michael Jackson's golden coffin and I put them inside. I bougth some flowers too.

One day, a customer asked me if I had any children and I hit him with a plank. He died on the spot. I was put in prison but I escaped soon, it was a piece of cake. Nowadays, people give for granted that I'm dead but that is really false, in this moment I am writing my own book by the light of the moon.

By Irene Lara, María José Sevilla, Samuel González and Marina Reche.

2 comentarios:

  1. jajaja, muy imaginativa... igual deberíais explicar qué reglas había para escribir esta historia.

  2. Teníamos que crear una historia utilizando una serie de verbos. De ahí que esta historia sea un poco absurda...jajaja