My Movie
Douglas Doesn´t Want to Wake Up!
Douglas Doesn´t Want to Wake Up!
Douglas lay in his bed. The wind blows in through his open window but has nowhere else to go. Outside insects like crickets make music
and whispering leaves add their harmony, and still he feels no peace. He closes his eyes, dreaming of sleep.
He jumps out of his window from the second floor and land on the wet grass. The air even feels humid and cold. He pulls air into his lungs and start running. Douglas races under the border of trees that block his house from the wild. There, the wind blows as it wishes, through the wheat field. Douglas gain speed as he climb the hill and rush past the junkyard. A bird flies, a rabbit runs and the wheat brushes against his legs. He thinks they´re racing but he knows he´ll win. No one is as fast as I am on this night! He makes it to the edge of the woods, not slowing as he run into the darkness.
The pince straw is greasy buy he has no fear of the risk of falling. With dirty legs and wet hands, he stands up to his full height in the night, breathing in the cold. How can anyone sleep on a night this? He´s alive in the world that gives his life! His legs starts to feel frozen and he slips a little, scraping his right arm and hand.
He climbs all the way to the top of a tree, feeling as light as the wind. This i
s the tallest tree, the strongest one in the forest. From the peak, he can see his house, his empty bed. Beside it Douglas can see the wheat field. The wind doesn´t push it around as strongly now. He hugs the tree, feeling bonded to it by pressing his against the bay.
The dried sheets are around his legs. It´s almost dawn; the starts are gone and the moon is barely there. A bird has woken him up, singing insistently! The cool climate sharps into his nose. He turns his head to look at his clock, instead seeing his wheelchair!!! Doctors say that his legs might work one day. He exhales noisly, feeling incompletely
unhappy.
There is dirt on his feet. He is confused and reaches out his hand to feel his legs. He notices a cut on his palm that runs down his arm. He raises his hand to brush face, and feel brushwood in his hair. Somewhere, the bird still sings, softer now, but strongly.
and whispering leaves add their harmony, and still he feels no peace. He closes his eyes, dreaming of sleep.He jumps out of his window from the second floor and land on the wet grass. The air even feels humid and cold. He pulls air into his lungs and start running. Douglas races under the border of trees that block his house from the wild. There, the wind blows as it wishes, through the wheat field. Douglas gain speed as he climb the hill and rush past the junkyard. A bird flies, a rabbit runs and the wheat brushes against his legs. He thinks they´re racing but he knows he´ll win. No one is as fast as I am on this night! He makes it to the edge of the woods, not slowing as he run into the darkness.
The pince straw is greasy buy he has no fear of the risk of falling. With dirty legs and wet hands, he stands up to his full height in the night, breathing in the cold. How can anyone sleep on a night this? He´s alive in the world that gives his life! His legs starts to feel frozen and he slips a little, scraping his right arm and hand.He climbs all the way to the top of a tree, feeling as light as the wind. This i
s the tallest tree, the strongest one in the forest. From the peak, he can see his house, his empty bed. Beside it Douglas can see the wheat field. The wind doesn´t push it around as strongly now. He hugs the tree, feeling bonded to it by pressing his against the bay. The dried sheets are around his legs. It´s almost dawn; the starts are gone and the moon is barely there. A bird has woken him up, singing insistently! The cool climate sharps into his nose. He turns his head to look at his clock, instead seeing his wheelchair!!! Doctors say that his legs might work one day. He exhales noisly, feeling incompletely
unhappy.There is dirt on his feet. He is confused and reaches out his hand to feel his legs. He notices a cut on his palm that runs down his arm. He raises his hand to brush face, and feel brushwood in his hair. Somewhere, the bird still sings, softer now, but strongly.
