Faire péter le high score ^^
J'avais déjà du vous parler de ce fameux texte narratif en anglais dont j'étais très fier et que j'avais remis à ma prof d'Essay Writing pour le controle continu. La note vient de tomber : 18, joli high score, d'autant plus surprenant qu'une note aussi haute est assez rare en faculté. Donc c'est avec plaisir que je vous livre ce texte (désolé pour les monolingues francophones, c'est en anglais, forcément) en attendant peut être pour un jour où je serai motivé une traduction en mode "director's cut" car j'ai coupé pas mal de bouts pour rester dans les limites (en nombre de mots) fixées par mon enseignante.
*****
The villain was bound and gagged. The police would be here any minute now. It had been an unusually tough fight, and he had taken more than his fair share of blows. It seemed to him that every fight was getting harder. Was he getting old ? He didn’t tire that easily in his twenties. But there weren’t that many superheroes anymore, so Silver Phoenix felt he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. “ ‘With great power comes great reponsibility,’ and stuff,” he thought. Like in that old comic book about the spider guy. He sure wished that real life was as easy as in those kinds of children's stories. But a hero he was, indeed. He was needed. Someone important.
He took off, to fly back home. It seemed as if every single muscle in his body was screaming in protest. Even the tiniest ones, those you don’t even know about until they are so sore you can’t ignore them anymore. He saw his reflection in a windowpane. His costume was intact. Covered with dust and bits of plaster, and inside the body was most likely an artistic collection of bruises, but the costume itself was intact. Damn kevlar fibers. He caught a glimpse of some civilian cheering at him. In his prime, he would have stopped to greet him, work on his public relations... “The Legendary Silver Phoenix.” He had a sudden urge to puke. He flew higher, to disappear from sight...
Home at last. He removed his mask and started to peel off the spandex. He cursed out loud against the common expectation that heroes absolutely had to wear such revealing and tight-fitting outfits. The first heroes had appeared in the late sixties, and the lighter mood and overall carelessness of youth at that time had seemingly stained forever the collective consciousness with images of heroes looking like living and breathing anatomy class dummies.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Was taking the mask away sufficient to banish Silver Phoenix and conjure up old Frank Gaiman, super-Joe-average ? He somehow doubted it. Unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, he looked like a mess. He spat some blood and a broken tooth. To prevent infection, he washed it with a draught of Brandy. He felt weak, so he snorted a rail of coke. He didn’t use to be such a cynic... He slipped into “normal” clothes and went out for a walk. For all his vaunted powers, he didn’t even hear the whispers of the two men he passed by.
“Look at that mess ! Who’s that ?”
“Pro’lly just a poor chump, mate. Nobody important.”
*****
La citation du jour : "Putain mais c'est pas normal"
La chanson du jour : We are the champions, Queen, "I consider it a challenge before the whole human race -And I ain’t gonna lose"
Même si y'a eu quelques regards noirs dans l'assemblée au vu de ma note, la vie est belle !
*****
The villain was bound and gagged. The police would be here any minute now. It had been an unusually tough fight, and he had taken more than his fair share of blows. It seemed to him that every fight was getting harder. Was he getting old ? He didn’t tire that easily in his twenties. But there weren’t that many superheroes anymore, so Silver Phoenix felt he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. “ ‘With great power comes great reponsibility,’ and stuff,” he thought. Like in that old comic book about the spider guy. He sure wished that real life was as easy as in those kinds of children's stories. But a hero he was, indeed. He was needed. Someone important.
He took off, to fly back home. It seemed as if every single muscle in his body was screaming in protest. Even the tiniest ones, those you don’t even know about until they are so sore you can’t ignore them anymore. He saw his reflection in a windowpane. His costume was intact. Covered with dust and bits of plaster, and inside the body was most likely an artistic collection of bruises, but the costume itself was intact. Damn kevlar fibers. He caught a glimpse of some civilian cheering at him. In his prime, he would have stopped to greet him, work on his public relations... “The Legendary Silver Phoenix.” He had a sudden urge to puke. He flew higher, to disappear from sight...
Home at last. He removed his mask and started to peel off the spandex. He cursed out loud against the common expectation that heroes absolutely had to wear such revealing and tight-fitting outfits. The first heroes had appeared in the late sixties, and the lighter mood and overall carelessness of youth at that time had seemingly stained forever the collective consciousness with images of heroes looking like living and breathing anatomy class dummies.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Was taking the mask away sufficient to banish Silver Phoenix and conjure up old Frank Gaiman, super-Joe-average ? He somehow doubted it. Unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, he looked like a mess. He spat some blood and a broken tooth. To prevent infection, he washed it with a draught of Brandy. He felt weak, so he snorted a rail of coke. He didn’t use to be such a cynic... He slipped into “normal” clothes and went out for a walk. For all his vaunted powers, he didn’t even hear the whispers of the two men he passed by.
“Look at that mess ! Who’s that ?”
“Pro’lly just a poor chump, mate. Nobody important.”
*****
La citation du jour : "Putain mais c'est pas normal"
La chanson du jour : We are the champions, Queen, "I consider it a challenge before the whole human race -And I ain’t gonna lose"
Même si y'a eu quelques regards noirs dans l'assemblée au vu de ma note, la vie est belle !
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Article majestueusement composé par le Baron De Senquisse à 13:25h | 
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