Неудачливым писателям нужен быстрый, дешёвый, и может даже качественный(ах вам и качество ещё соблюдать!) перевод с русского на english- к службе готова! Если вы удачливый писатель, то я и бесплатно это сделаю))) Всё равно вы мне не заплатите…..пример моей работы:



I was dying of suffocation. I was hurting from an unexplainable pain in all my muscles. I was fighting with a breath of freshness of your pores. I was physically near. You were emotionally away. You slashed the air with those sharp eyelashes. And the scream came out. It was a yell for air. You wanted more. Tears came pouring down your cheeks and splashed onto the pillow. Some froze halfway to the destination. The rays of sun were giggling and you were pouring your liquefied heart in my hands. The water in the vase was protected by a thin layer of ice, yet your heart was not solid.
I do not want to hear anything. Be silent. I want to listen. I want to hear my heartbeat. I detest the coldness in this room. You crawl up to the side of my bare body. You bring the warmth I need to survive. Of course you always comply with my needs. You love me. I detest you. The epic gap results in a wonderful reliance.
The ray of sunlight tries to strike my eye at a straight angle. I hide from such inappropriate behavior. And the second one fails too. And here comes the third one. I hide my eyes in your hair. It has a smell. Maybe an aroma. Some man like it. How soft it is. Ai, it bit me. I go back.
Your lips are mournfully blue. The rest is white with two dots shining in the stillness. I am distracted by the heavenly smell of a burnt toast and coffee. The smell is absolutely breathtaking and alluring. I imagine the warmth acquired from the warm cup soon to be embraced by my fingers. Quickly is too slow too describe my movements. Soon I am at the door. Some molding falls on my shoulder as I shut it behind me. My head is raised and my nose is starting to work.
I again hear a scream, but of another tone. It dies. The voice seemed familiar. Maybe it was one of them. It does not matter now. The owner is gone by now. I gulp down another intake of Latte and the morning of January 28 is effaced from my memory. I smile in satisfaction.