I've been trying to open this page to write another message for a week and half and it didn't load. Well, last Wednesday I had to expose my Research Work of A level, I've been very nervous this days.. And all finished with a stupid exhibition of 40 minutes with some asks and a powerpoint! I began explaining and the fretful went away. I just scare myself when I remember how natural I prettended to be: at the end(as the three teachers of the tribunal teach me and we know for some years) I said them that I tried to bring a plate of ham but it just get finished in the shop when I tried. Fortunately they laughed a little and said me that they could wait a month to receive it: a Jabugo plate was a 10 and a Serrano 8. If they are really waiting for it they can sit down for a while...
In my institute we do the Research Work during the holidays from first to second year and half course of second year. I was planning to make my work about the human nervous and endocrine systems but I found so much information and I decided to do it only about the nervous system.
I've made about 50 pages of theory and 20 of histologycal photos (done in my institute's lab) and it's about 80 pages total. The maximum was about 100 pages.
The other day I was looking all the stories and writtings I've been doing since 1rst ESO(I have all of them in a folder) and I've though to blog something sometimes. This time it's a small "horror" story that we had to write in English last year. I wrote it the night before giving it(I know, I shouldn't leave things for the last moment..) and as I couldn't think of nothing I wrote this story while I was listenning loudly Blind Guardian in my headphones. Imagine the type of music.
Just take a look:
"A horror story – Attend to your folklore
It was a raw winter morning, a heavy snow mantle covered everything of white. In the coast a dense fog still covered the wild waves which were hitting with fury against the cliff. On this a lighthouse lit
with effort among the fog. It was an old lighthouse, their rocks were shown worn away in their
haughtiness, and in their summit a shade moved. The wind whistled while it surrounded the small multitude that was coming closer with hesitant step towards the summit of the cliff. They had taken torches and they were holding sticks and garrottes with trembling hands.
They arrived at the lighthouse’s foothold and after a short pause they opened the door. It’s chirp was the only thing that they discerned coming from the darkness. With the torches past and hesitant steps they began going up the stairway... It was narrow and the lifelong humidity had already made dent in the paved walls. Slowly they pressed the step, pushed by their own fear, but they stopped sharp when they heard how the door closed with a snap and they saw how an icy breeze wandered by their backs and it turned off the torchess. Then they heard it scream, a sharp and strong screech. According to the town old tales in their day it had been a derrick man’s wife, who threw herself from the peak against the rocks when the villagers pursued her to burn it for witchcraft. The fear was on edge, the laden air was lacking because of their quick breathing. The screech repeated, this time nearer. Some lost courage and they began to run downstairs. As soon as they arrived to the door, they saw it was frozen and totally closed.
Wailings and screams, some suppliant voice... Silence... Those that had descended couldn’t move Because of the fear, because of what they had heart... Some in the town affirmed to hear screams and laments crawled by the wind from the lighthouse that morning, but whether it was sure or false, the truth thing is that nobody else has never come closer to the lighthouse again, reportedly, it’s damned. "
Well, enough for today. I should go to sleep that tomorrow I work and must wake up early to study. Shit, two exams on Monday.