Nogen der er gode til engelsk? {{forumTopicSubject}}

Jeg har skrevet en lille kort historie til min engelsktime, men skal have den "rettet".

The year was 1943 and it had been four moons since the last attack. As I stood on the hill outside the city, I could see how people were getting ready for bed while the sun was setting. They had forgotten the evil for a brief moment when their youngsters had screamed for food. The truth was that no one forgets about the evil. Not completely. Especially when it nearly destroys ever brick in town. I was happy for them – even envious - they could sleep yet another night with their illusion of peace. I just wanted to sleep. I took a deep breath and turned around. It had to be now.
Hills greeted me for the first four miles as the night grew darker and my shattered soul got less weary. I took my staff and mumbled a spell which made a single flair of light emerge from the end of the staff, illuminating the path I was walking. With every step I took, my breathing got heavier. Just the thought of my destination was to weep over. In all of my hundreds of years I had never fought a battle this great. I liked my home in the woods, far away from the town of humans, far away from trouble. It had not made me loved or respected by the people I was supposed to protect, but sometimes it felt as a lost cause to do so. They were too vain. Though worst of all: They didn’t believe in magic.
I had shown them a thousand times how my magic worked, but it did no good. Now the town was under attack several times a year and since it wasn’t coming from just anyone, I was forced to protect the foolish humans. My destination was at The Black Castle where Grenth, an evil wizard and my brother, lived. He hadn’t always been evil. There was once upon a time where Grenth was a happy child like many others.
Grenth and I were born in secret. Our mother was a high priestess in the city and their sole regent. Our mother knew all kinds of magic, yet she only practiced the good. Her only flaw was her beauty, which she was much too aware of. That, and the many years of being a sole, lonely regent, had made her vain as well.
One day she decided that the town should have a sculpture of her, so all her beloved humans could watch her beauty even when she was not around. She called for the best sculptor to be found. Many came to show her their skills, but she was never impressed by their madly advances. One day, a simple human sculptor came and humbly presented some of his previous work for her. She hired the guy. He had been working day and night to make her statue as pretty as possible, but a short time later, he fell in love with her, much to her distress. She told him they could never be together, even though she too, had found herself fond of the mere male human being. When the statue was finished, he did what he could to stay, but our mother knew how unrealistic this were for both of them. The sculptor killed himself, lost in his despair for the world. The one night they had shared, let to the being of my brother and I.
As young children living in the castle in a great town, none of us really cared that our father was gone. We had enough to worry about, since we had no control over our own power. Mother spent every day training us to gain control. Until one day where Grenth started, asking Mother why Father was never home. She told us of his depression that had let to his death. This made Grenth despair Mother, as she was the one who had let Father to an early grave. In the shyness of the night he fled, seeking a meaning with the world elsewhere. I worried, but Mother told me to let him go. Grenth found himself an old priest who practiced the darkest of magic. The priest was old and needed to be taken care of, so he took Grenth in. Grenth wanted to learn the magic and was taught new spells every single day, until the old priest died. Grenth was older and powerful enough to take his vengeance over Mother, who had left the Castle with me in fear of what might come. Grenth bombed the town with his black magic. Stones turned to dust and the blood of the innocents flooded the streets. When Mother learned, she fled to new, unknown places, and told me to keep a distant eye of the humans. “They must be protected, they are so weak.” That was her last words before she was gone like the wind on a summers day. So I did. Grenth’s power rose every day and now was the time where I had to defeat my own blood. My good heart could not take it anymore.
Morning had broken when I finally arrived at The Black Castle. It was as I remembered. Sorrow emerged from the walls and my soul got heavy. “Grenth!” I yelled as loudly as I could manage. “Your brother is here to see you.” The gate of the castle opened slowly and I walked in. The castle saddened me even more from inside. To greet me was a tall, black figure walked out. My flesh and blood, my brother, now only a stranger to me. He wore an outfit ready for war. I could feel Mother's kindness and good heart pump inside me. What had gone wrong with Grenth? “Brother,” he said, “it sure has been years.” His voice was raw and hoarse.
“Don’t tell me you’re still protecting those foolish humans.” He laughed. We were several feet apart, but his very being saddened me. I nodded towards him. “Brother, are you blind? Did all the gullible nonsense Mother filled us with stuck with you all these years? These humans do not deserve our magic and wisdom. We ruled this realm long before they were even born. Why protect someone who does not wish our assistance? Brother, are you so blind that you see nothing good in me and nothing evil in Mother? Brother, you must stop this foolishness. We could rule these realms side by side. With our magic, no one would stand a chance against us. But first the humans need to go.”
I knew then that this was not my brother. This was his shadow, a shadow grown ever-thirsty for power. So drunk in dark magic that he nearly drowned. What happened next is still iffy. We were fighting, but not like brothers are supposed to fight. I fought for Mother, he fought for Father. Light and dark magic flared around us, crumbling the walls of the great castle around us, gave both of us scars, made us lose limbs and in spite of our nearly divine origin, we found ourselves more mortal than any of us wanted to be. When he finally gave birth to his last breath and fell before my feet in the ruins of The Black Castle, I knew he was right. The humans never wanted our help and there was no way I could explain to them that I had saved them all from certain death. They never came to believe in magic, but lived on and populated the fields I had walked back then in 1943.

I må gerne komme med ris og ros!