Essay en anglais

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  • Publié le : 19 mars 2010
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Matthew ran into the next dark street.
Matthew would never forget the moment of impact, the shock as the bullet went through his left hand. Blood splashed all over the wall in front of him.It was a dead end.
Matthew had always put himself in similar situations but had never got injured. The shooter came closer. The boy’s hand was bleeding; blood was dripping on the pavement, dropafter drop. Luckily, the bullet had gone through his hand, so it wasn’t that critical.
As the shooter came nearer, Matthew could distinguish his figure. It was a big man with a long black coat.
Hisname was Marco. He had worked for the Corleone all his life. He was an assassin.
‘The money’, Marco said, he had a strong Italian accent and didn’t look very smart in the way he talked with his deepvoice.
That’s how Matthew would be able to get out of that situation. He may not have had the same strength as the assassin but his brain was a lot bigger and he would take advantage of that.
‘I don’thave it’, the boy answered.
‘You know what that means don’t you?’ replied the man.
‘I do’, muttered Matthew.
The man started to pull out his pistol.
‘Wait!’ the teenager shouted.
He put a hand inhis pocket, produced a handkerchief and blew his nose.
The man started to laugh.
At that very moment Matthew let the handkerchief fall to the ground. He knew that Marco was a big maniac and hecouldn’t stand people throwing litter on the floor.
‘Pick it up’, Marco said.
As he picked up the tissue, Matthew hit the man to the groin, then grabbed his head and hit it against the wall. He kept ondoing some other moves that he had learned in his Kung-Fu lessons. He had almost forgotten his sore hand.
The shooter was on the ground knocked out. Matthew took his gun, tore his shirt and wrappedit as a bandage around his hand. He heard some distant police sirens coming towards him.
He was on the run.
He started to run. Matthew had always been top of his class in running. He could run 10...
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