Daniella sine saker.

[susan pevensie]

iNA-CHAAAN<3<3
det er så bra fototekniske bilder du er flink so får til sånt

[Martie A. Wothington]

Jeg måtte bare si at jeg ble helt "O______O" av detder. Det var kjemmmmmmpefint. :'D

[Daniella V. Frances]

Tatt av meg, og Anna, på en måte. Altså, jeg har fikset instillinger og redigert, hun trykket på knappen.

[Pedusa Tinkerbell]

Nåfikkjeglystpåsaft.
Men hej, du er flink jenta! :3 <3

[Daniella V. Frances]

Man legger ut del av sin eksamenbesvarelse.

It was at the beginning of 11th century, early in May. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, and a warm wind was blowing against my cheek like a gentle touch from a good friend. If it had been yesterday, my eyes would be like two stars, shining against the bright sky. I would breathe in the cold spring air as I ran barefoot over the street to find Chenguang, my best friend. She would probably be sitting at the stone stairs outside her house, waiting for me because I was late out. We would both of us understand that my mother was holding me back because of a stupid reason we were to young to understand. We would play all day, and when we got hungry we would run around the corner, to Mr. Chenguas stall. The old man would follow us in, and while he took a break from serving all the hungry Chinese woman and men, he’d warm up some soup from yesterday’s menu. I could still remember the taste from the other day when we were eating there. I closed my eyes, and as I was walking straight forward, it seemed like I was there again; the smell of all the spices and the herbs; the sound of an old teapot boiling water and a couple of cherry stalks, among with three blossoms. I was sure that I had managed to travel back in time, when I walked around a corner and straight into Mr. Chengua. “Oh, Mr. Chengua! I am so sorry.” I plunged down on my knees, and did not dear to look him in his eyes as I showed him all the respect I had. “Forgive me sir, I was lost in my thoughts-” He waved his hand, and stopped my mouth. “Get up girl,” he grinned. “I prefer you in a height were I can se your eyes and talk to you.” I sat my feet under me, but when I tried to lift myself up, the weight of my body once more crushed my toes, and I fell down again. A low scream was unreleased from my mouth as my forehead hit the ground, and a second after I was laying in a pile made of dirt, and my own blood and tears. “Girl, get up and stop sobbing now.” The strict voice surprised me, so I managed to drag myself up, by holding my hands on the tree next to me. Soon, I balanced the weight of my body on my toes. “Your feet are bound? Well, come with me.” For a second we had been looking down on my toes, crushed together and held in a painful position by this beautiful cloth made of silk, but no he had turned around and were passing around the corner. For every step I took, a wave of pain washed through my body, but for every step I came closer to Mr. Chenguas stall.

[Eàmané Wesenberg]

Au. au. au. De gamle kineserne og fotbindinga deres >_< Fant bare en major feil som du MÅ vite.

foot i flertall = feet. Ikke feets, og iallfall ikke feet's. Apostrofen brukes om noens eiendom. Feet's = føttenes. IKKE GJØR DET DER IGJEN. xD

[Daniella V. Frances]

Øyeblikket var surrealistisk, som om det aldri fant sted. Alt stod stille: Grå skyer av tobakk tettet luften, mumlingen til politimennene var uhørlig, tankene i den gamle mannens hode sto stille. Så startet det igjen, tregt i begynnelsen, som en gammel filmrull. Støvet virvlet opp fra rommets overflater, og lyset utenifra blinket til i sølvtøyet. Mannen sukket, neglene skrapte mot de hårløse områdene på hodet hans. Utenfor vinduet blåste det opp til storm.

Ti minutter senere satt de ved kjøkkenbordet i etasjen over. De mørke møblene luktet råttent: en svak, søt lukt som hang i luften. Den lille bordlampen kastet lange skygger oppover veggene, og hver gang vindkastene tok tak i den, danset skyggene.
“Så, Jack,” sa den ene uniformkledde, og henvendte seg til eieren av huset. “- hvorfor urnen? Hvorfor har du lurt alle til å tro at bestemoren din har ligget der?”
Jack fnøs, og tre tekopper ble slengt på bordet. Han ventet med å svare til kannen av dampende vann stod midt mellom de tre.
“Bestemor har vært begravd i Irland siden hun døde,” fortalte han. “Under et lønnetre. Jeg tar ikke ansvar for at alle i området er godtroende idioter.” Han hevet den dampende koppen til munnen, og fikk konstabelen til å heve øyenbrynet.
“Hvorfor urnen?” Gjentok han kvast.

Regnet plasket mot de mørke brosteinene. Jack O’Malley befant seg i Londons gater, der han dyttet seg frem gjennom den tette mengden av mennesker. En lav buldring rullet over himmelen, og noen sekunder etter ble himmelen lyst opp. Han pustet ikke ut før han fikk presset seg inn i en sidegate. Et vindu ble åpnet, og i noen nervepirrende sekunder presset han seg inn mot en ruglete vegg.


En del av min tentamensbesvarelse. Hva syns folk? (:

[Ivory Yovaile]

Wow, Ina. Du er mildt sagt begavet.

[Daniella V. Frances]

^Wow, thanks! :')

[Daniella V. Frances]

Gå inn på linken under for hele bildet!

http://purplecottoncandy.deviantart.com/#/d4kf580