Ashkhen Grigoryan's Stories
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“Stars in the sky” (Confusion)
“Hello.” There was no reply. “Hello,” repeated the voice.
At the end of the decrepit road there sat a girl in rags with a dirty face. She was watching the stars in deep concentration.
”May I sit down?”, asked the girl who had just arrived, dressed in clean clothes and with properly brushed hair.
”This is a road, not my house, so you can sit down for however long you please.”
”Come, let's be friends.”
They were both watching the stars and there was something very mystical about it. It was already getting dark. The rays of the sun were trying to strike through, but just to frighten the clouds. In this instance, the clouds won.
“Why are you looking at the sky?”
”I am waiting for the stars to come out so I can see my mother.”
”Does your mother live with the stars?”
”Yes.”
“I will come back tomorrow as well as the day after, and we will become friends.”
“I will not be here tomorrow.”
“Where will you be?”
”Maybe with my mother.”
“I want to come with you too.”
”Come. Good night,” and the girl went away.
This is dedicated to all those who see something when looking at the stars.
Wrote at 14 years old age
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I love my father very much, but the sentence “Ashkhen, get up, it’s a quarter to eight”, which my father repeats every morning, makes me think that I don’t like him. Oh, dad, let me sleep a bit more, just five minutes...”
My father says OK and goes to the other room. He comes back after five minutes. These five minutes surely seem just like one moment to me. This goes on for a while. Finally, I get up just when I have only ten minutes to get washed and dressed. This happens every morning. Father’s voice becomes unbearable at such moments, but I like it very much when it’s time to say ‘’Good night’’ when I know there are ten hours ahead to sleep.
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I am sitting cosily on the chair and trying to write a short story. Things happen in my life and they can make a great number of stories, but the most important thing at the moment is that nothing occurs to me.
Isn’t it amazing? I am writing about how I cannot write? For me it’s nice to be able to turn one’s thoughts into a story. My teacher says one shouldn’t write only to be published somewhere but merely for getting pleasure from transmitting one’s opinions & views into a sheet of paper.
My aunt is tired of us; she is now sitting in the corner of the room reeling a ball. My cousin saw me writing, took a sheet of paper and started scrawling on it. Yeah, this is my brother; he’s even ready to eat the meal he hates if he eats it! I am not up to flatter because I am writing.
My granny, grandpa and our neighbor are talking about something. Grandpa is telling something about beer; as to my granny and the neighbor, they seem even not to listen to what he says: the telly’s too loud.
You may not go on reading my story if you got bored you’ll lose much, believe me.
This is not said to boast. A great writer should not give way to self-praise. I am writing for intelligent people and I hope I’ll be understood.
Here they have put pieces of bread on the oven and I can smell the flavor of crispy & hot bred. Oh, how much I like these moments! Everybody is busy with his or her business, nobody pays attention to me and I’m happy that they exist, that they are all peaceful.
I’m writing a story and I hope somebody’s going to read it.
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“Silence! I heard some noise”, said one of the pomegranate seeds.
“Just some people are talking in the next room, don’t worry”, one of the seeds calmed down its friend.
“What do you think makes us feel so hot? It is very stuffy in here.”
“I guess we are in the warm hands of some creatures.”
“You say it is very stuffy inside. But I am cold and I wonder what makes all of you think it is hot”, complained one of the seeds, which lay very deep inside the pomegranate.
“I think we are in hot water now and that is why we feel so hot”, said a seed which hang on the peel, very close to heat. It hadn’t heard the complaints of its friends.
“Stop arguing about things you don’t know. It is the sun that heats us”, said the pomegranate peel unable to stand the seed quarrel. “You don’t have to complain. We wouldn’t be able to grow without the heat of the sun. ”
“Sun? What is it?” the pomegranate seeds got surprised. “Is it a tasty and hot steam?”
“You won’t be able to imagine the sun, whatever I say. It’s a hot sphere.”
“Does the sun grow on our tree?” asked one of the wisest seeds on behalf of all. It knew about the tree.
“I knew you would not be able to imagine what the sun is. Now, if I say the sun is in the sky, you will certainly ask what the sky is, won’t you?”
“And you, can you see the sun. If so, make us see it too,” asked the seeds with envy.
“OK let’s see,” said the peel, collected its strengths and burst out.
At that very moment, Tsovinar entered the garden, saw the cracked pomegranate and exclaimed happily:
“Look, the pomegranate has cracked. I will put it on our table.”
Wrote at 11 years old age
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I don’t want to leave for anywhere this summer. I will stay at home and will spend all my time in our garden. It is a beautiful place year round: in the spring it is nice to read book under a nut tree and enjoy the fragrance of the first flowers. In the summer there is ripe fruit everywhere: mulberry, plum, apricot, fig, cherry and strawberry.
In the spring I planted a seed of bean on a wet cotton piece. When it gave shoots, I removed it to the garden. Now there are tiny beans on the shoots already. In the summer I like standing under a mulberry tree on windy days and it seems like the sky is pouring ripe mulberries.
In the autumn I like walking on the leaves and listen to their rustling. I can also see Mount Masis from our garden.
In the winter it is all white and very beautiful. My brother and I make snowmen and play snowballs.
I never get bored in our garden be it spring, summer, autumn or winter.
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