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NewsPaper > Authors

Ani Aghababyan's Stories

Ani Aghababyan's Stories

infoAni Aghababyan's Page


“Don't cry over spilt milk” (Confusion)

Don't cry over spilt milk

Time is passing by taking life with it, taking the good and bad things, and leaving only memories…
I was playing in the courtyard, running around with my friends, climbing the neighbour's apricot tree and picking the unripened fruits. Then, throwing a naughty glance towards the neighbour's entrance, I would run away with my friends, laughing loudly. We were so happy, despite the fact that we had done something bad.
Time has passed. All day there are books, and more books, classes, I cannot breathe freely. The wind blew away the curtains and I could see the courtyard… I remembered the broken door of the car, which we had taken and made into a home, I remembered that willow tree, on which we hadn't left a branch, we had broken them all off to make curtains for our little home, which were ruined by going in and out each time. I remember how my mother used to bring me home with such difficulty, but I would still escape from the balcony. Then I would be not be allowed out of the house for one week. Oh, how I wish that my mother would punish me now for that reason…


Wrote at 15 years old age


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“A short happiness” (Stories About Spring)

We were waiting the whole winter, they told us that it’s cold outside and the puppy would get ill. They promised me that they would buy a puppy at spring time. Me and my sister were waiting for the spring. But it wasn’t the first winter we were waiting for the puppy. When I remember my past, I was waiting for my puppy all the time. Sometimes I was bringing the puppy to our home from the yard. But one day I bathe and made the puppy dry with my mother’s hair drier. But my mother never let the puppy stay with me. It was already spring and the day that they should bring the puppy was approaching. We brought him to our house, it was very little. We called the puppy Ricky. My father loved him the most. If we don’t walk carefully we will step on Ricky’s leg because he is very little. My mother didn’t want Ricky to stay with us; he was only 10 days with us when my mother took him back.
That spring started happily, but our happiness didn’t last so long.


Wrote at 16 years old age


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untitled (Scary Stories)

I was in the kitchen having lunch when I felt the door bang and some thing fall to the floor at the front door. A piece of bread stuck to my throat. I sat motionless. When I recovered myself, I heard loud voices.
“Go upstairs be careful not to drop him”. I came up to the door and peeped through it. I was the neighbor from a lower floor who stumbled over the stairs and fallen down with his weight of 123 kilos.


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“Come Back, Oh, Come Back” (Open letters, Declaration-protests, Talks & interviews)

I had many nice and interesting ideas when I was a child. But these ideas became less in number, these ideas left me, they vanished. Why? Why is it so? What have I done to them? Maybe I have put them down on a dirty sheet, maybe I have written them in a bad hand or maybe I have pained these ideas in the printing process. I assure all those who’ll read these lines that I’m very sorry to have offended my thoughts. Now I need them and miss them much. If you see them somewhere on you way, please ask them to come back.


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“Persimmon spoons” (Table Tales)

Persimmon spoons

“Haven’t I told you to eat with a fork?” said Tigranik’s mother as he brought a frankfurter to his mouth.

“I’m a wild man, mummy,” explained the boy, “look, I’ve just come from the forest and I'm seeing a fork for the first time.”

“You eat the cake with a spoon, OK? Look at you! Just a look at your shirt or your mug is enough to guess what we had for dinner.”

Now Tigranik is a panther. He is moaning and jumping from table to table.

“This panther will eat us”, the dishes got afraid.

The spoons and knives got so scared that they went into the persimmon stone. You probably do not believe me. Then just break a persimmon stone and peep into it.


Wrote at 12 years old age


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