辨真伪 9/29/2005 16:13
你们能不能读完这个故事后投个票,告诉我这个故事是真的还是假的?如果读起来太无聊读不完就算了。谢了。 rose

题目:I Wrestled with a Man Who Was Trying to Stealing from a Woman Whom I Did Not Know


The whole thing happened so sudden and fast that I did not feel after and have not since felt that it was real.

It was a Friday evening almost 12 O’clock midnight. I had been working on a watercolor piece at the Aso Studio. I couldn’t remember the exact date but it was August this year, that’s right, not too long ago, an evening with full moon. I knew this because the night before when I drove to the studio at 2 am, the moon was up high in the sky, round and bright. You wonder why I drove to the studio at 2 am. You know that I do paintings in my spare time, and if I don’t find time to paint over a week or two, I get unsettled and start to have either surreal dreams or nightmares in my sleep. By that night, I had not done any painting for a whole month. As I had to work the next day, I was willing to fall into sleep and be tortured by nightmares. Still I couldn’t. At 2 am, I came to me that I had only one option
听起来象是真的.因为这个故事编成这样能达到什么目的呢?达不到什么,所以也就没必要编;没必要编,所以就是真的了. smile

只是漏了一个细节.那个钱包的主人消失得太快,去向不明.还有那个flyer的用语不太象警察的,特别是black这个词,警察不敢这样用的.谁会贴这样的告示呢?

最近downtown出了一个假冒出租车企图强奸的人.据说有告示的.拿那个告示对比一下就能知道什么是警察用语了.
WoJian at 9/29/2005 17:35 快速引用
WoJian :
听起来象是真的.因为这个故事编成这样能达到什么目的呢?达不到什么,所以也就没必要编;没必要编,所以就是真的了. smile

只是漏了一个细节.那个钱包的主人消失得太快,去向不明.还有那个flyer的用语不太象警察的,特别是black这个词,警察不敢这样用的.谁会贴这样的告示呢?

最近downtown出了一个假冒出租车企图强奸的人.据说有告示的.拿那个告示对比一下就能知道什么是警察用语了.


告示不是警察写的,是画廊里的人自己写给来画廊的人注意的。

这是一个写作练习,就是在练习编,而且得要能说服读者。我们总共有四个人都写这一个题目,真实故事其实只发生在一个人身上。我就是想知道你们读完了觉不觉得这是发生在我的真事?
wildcrane at 9/29/2005 17:47 快速引用
像真的,因为觉得你不像是会无中生有编故事的人 oops
只是不知道这故事到底想说打劫还是想说画画啊,虽然是同时发生的但好像没什么关联。。。
Hubert at 9/29/2005 18:05 快速引用
搏斗那节不好说
前面画画的细节太象真的了
主要是看过你那幅画 wink
mushroom at 9/29/2005 20:31 快速引用
挺真实的! 牛 也可能是因为看过你的画的缘故 smile
FreeStuff at 9/29/2005 22:27 快速引用
谢谢回复。其实我的故事是编的。下面这个故事是真的。 rose


I wrestled with a man who was trying to steal from a woman whom I did not know

“Are you sure that you’ll be ok traveling by yourself?” my friend, Laura, asks me before we go our separate ways in the Florence train station.
“Sure, no problem.” I reply. “Don’t worry.”

With my Eurorail pass in hand and my sights on making it to the World’s Fair in Seville, Spain, I feel very self-sufficient. In addition, I am eager to put some distance between me and Laura’s other friend who is traveling with her, Jerome, who constantly carries with him the tension of his unrequited love/lust for Laura.

Besides, I feel prepared for anything that might come my way during the final leg of my European journey. Upon first arriving, the blatant stares of the men had offended my American Midwestern politically correct sense of decency, but I have had time to adjust since then. With my backpack, my Lonely Planet Guide, my traveler’s checks and my credit card, I feel good to go.

The only way I have any chance to make it to Seville in time to catch the final days of the World Fair is to take an overnight train from Italy, through France to Barcelona.

Unfortunately, I don’t have enough money for a sleeper car.

I know the stories. A young woman traveling alone is considered an easy target, for robbers, for molesters, for those out just for a good time. There is safety in numbers, I was told. I board the train and find a cabin in which the only other inhabitant is a very petite Asian woman. She and I realize that we had no language in common, but when I gesture to her that I would like to take one side of the cabin, she nods and smiles. An (almost) universal good sign.

I tend to my book, but when the sun goes down, so do I. I lay out on the seat next to my bag, and my cabin-mate soon does the same on her side of the cabin. Soon after, I switch off our cabin light.

The conductor comes by periodically to check on our tickets. He comes in, switches on the light, and asks for us to show our papers. The town names switch from Italian to French. Pisa, Genova, Nice, Toulon …

Clackity-clack. Clackity-clack.

After every encounter, I’m rocked back to sleep by the awkward, but yet somehow intoxicating sway of the train.

Somewhere after a stop in the south of France, I man barges into our cabin, looks around and says something about “une place … une place”. Feeling a sense of panic like waking to the sound of your own baby crying, I jolt upright and turn on the cabin light.

My cabin-mate also sits up, looking startled and bleary-eyed. I see that she has taken off her money-belt. It rests next to her on the seat, for all to see. The man clearly sees it as well, reaches for it and grabs it off the seat. He turns to leave.

Her money-belt. Money. Passport. Credit cards …

I step in his way and reach for the money-belt, which is still in his hand. I grab it, as well, and we both struggle for it. His face, so close to mine because he is not much taller than I am, first looks startled, and then shows his fury. He raises a hand as if to strike me, but then doesn’t. In our tussle, I am no longer blocking his path out the door. He runs out, leaving me with the money-belt.

I hand it back to my cabin-mate, who seems very grateful. I can’t focus on her clearly, though, as the weight of what just happened catches up to me. What did I just do? What did I risk? Then, what if he comes back?

After taking a moment to try to slow down my breathing, I find the conductor to make a report, for whatever good that will do. I shiver and my teeth chatter, but it is not a cold night.

I walk up and down the train hallway, searching for some comfort. Booming voices lead me to a group of college boys. There is a card game in progress. It is close to 4am.
“I’m telling you, she liked you,” one is saying to the other as I come to their cabin door. The door shade is up, allowing me to see in. T-shirts, baseball caps, school paraphernalia. The other one is protesting, “No way, man … I think it’s clear that you liked HER.” Guffaws follow.

I knock at the door and they gesture me in. I do my best to introduce myself and tell them what just happened calmly, but I find that I am struggling. They are kind, patient, and express concern. I hear one of them offer to move into the cabin next to mine, for safety purposes. “If you want us to come over, just pound on the wall between us and we’ll be there,” they say. They gather their things and all follow me back to my part of the train.

Under different circumstances, had I seen their jocky swaggers, loudness and, in general, telltale “American-ness” headed my way while on the streets of Paris, Amsterdam or anywhere else in Europe, I might have crossed over to the other side of the street. I am, after all, trying to blend in with and learn from the locals
wildcrane at 10/10/2005 21:30 快速引用
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