Donc. Ma professeure d'anglais, se basant sur l'œuvre d'une écrivaine américaine dont le nom m'échappe, nous a donné, à titre de rédaction finale, le très mignon thème de l'animal intérieur. J'ai un peu divagué, considérant qu'elle demandait un texte continu des plus simples, mais je trouve le résultat final adorable. Donc voilà. J'ai à peine passé une heure trente sur ce texte, donc faut pas s'attendre à un chef d'oeuvre, mais bon, il est original.
Et toutes les informations données sur l'animal sont véridiques. Faites votre recherche Wikipedia!
When I first read the topic for this paper, I thought it would be awesome if my inner animal was a crab. Then I realized crabs were not very inspiring, although they lived in the sea. I like the sea. I’m just as fluid and ever-changing as the sea. My inner animal must be an extension of myself. It must be aquatic.
When I was very young, very adorable and very humble, my mother used to call me “Princess”. I ran around with a small crown made of cardboard. It had shiny stickers that were true jewels. You can imagine how surprised I was when I learned that royalty and nobles had blue blood flowing in their veins. I used to fall way too often not to have noticed that my own blood was red. I was not a princess. My parents had lied to me.
The animal that lives within me must have blue blood.
Then I grew up a little bit. At the age of 5, I felt in love with three boys at a time. I was polyvalent. I was Don Juan in a strawberry pattern dress. They all gave me candies, dandelion bouquets or interesting pebbles. Since I could love three boys (four, counting the yellow bus driver) at a time, it would be strange if my inner animal only had one heart to provide all of that love.
The animal that lives within me must have three hearts.
At the age of 6, I had the habit of eating everything that I could put my hands on. My mother used to call me Tarantula. I had only two arms, but it was just as if I had eight. I just liked to taste new flavors, like wild berries, flowers and even soap bubbles.
The animal that lives within me must have eight arms.
The animal that lives within me must have eight arms that can taste what they are touching.
Then I grew up a little bit more. I never listened to my parents. I knew better. I was always on the run, always with my friends, hanging out in Montreal’s China Town, drinking multicolored bubble teas. Bubble teas are the best. They’re tea with bubbles. Bubbles are tapioca balls with sugar. They’re black, squishy and slimy.
The animal that lives within me must also be squishy and slimy
And now here I am, all grown up. Even at my age, I still feel guilty to refuse an offer. I just don’t know how to say no. It made me waste so much time and money, and still, I don’t want to be rude to people, I don’t want not to meet their expectations. Metaphorically, I’d say I was born without a backbone.
The animal that lives within me mustn’t have any bones at all.
One may think such an animal doesn’t exist.
Too many criteria.
Obdurate I’ll still be
Pardon the absurdity