The trip of the rice seed

The seeds were in the rice bag, their usual place. They lay peacefully and did not even suspect my mother was going to make dolma (cabbage or grapes leaves stuffed with rice, meat and species.

She emptied the rice into the tray.
“Have we done anything wrong? What a curse!” murmured an old one rice seed, bumping into the tray.

My mother didn't care. She was cleaning the rice, taking out the damaged seeds.

“Where are you taking me?” screamed the damaged seed and fell down into in the trash bin.
“Hi,” a can lying near said politely.

When the rice was clean, my mother emptied it into the pot.

“Madam, please stop your seamless actions!” screamed the old rice seed, wiping off the dust from itself.

But at that moment mother filled the pot with cold water.
“Help, please help, we're sinking.”

But this was just the beginning. New trials followed one after the other.

Now mother is mixing the meat with the rice.
“This tactless woman broke my ribs”- groaned the old rice seed.

When the stuff was ready, mother took the green grape leaves and started rolling the dolma. The old seed got a little bit excited.
“I know what this is; I used to be a frequent hiker in the past. These green leaves are sleeping bags. ”

Soon the talk was over; you better don't ask me how the meal was cooked.
The cooked seed was red with anger, having grown twice as large as it was before. Mother took the dolma, arranged beautifully on a plate to the dinning-room.
The old seed was in my plate.

Gor Baghdasaryan

11 years old