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.

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

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