Реклама. ООО «ЛитРес», ИНН: 7719571260.
Quarantine book of stories and poems
Cactus
Woe from Wit
Black sock mask
How I fought with the phone
How Alik sold his apartment
At the hairdresser
New Year’s Eve
Bird hunting
Why do rams lose weight?
Sister
More expensive than gold
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
It happens…
Asterisks
My notes
How I look mystic
Mr P
Satire
Repairs
A humorous story
Missing
Conquerors of the capital
Chapter 1. Family Council
Chapter 2 In the city
Chapter 3. Accident
Chapter 4 In the investigator’s office
Chapter 5 Court
Magic world
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Miracle
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Super modern game
Big and small
One morning
A tale of love
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Zeynep
Plagiarism
chapter 1
Chapter 2
chapters 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
New Year’s Eve Dream
Poems. Translation from Russian
I will take the wind with me
I can’t shut up for a minute
Who brags about what
Don’t yell at mother
Crying Earth
Doll and Soul
About life
Ball of masks
Allah
Live!
The words
Wolf
Everything will be fine!
Shu steppes
The night will be long…
Our town
Storm wind
Against the wind
What to put on a profile?
My Kazakhstan
Don’t kill the swans!
Under the lantern…
Husband and wife. Joke
Hypocrisy
Daughters-sons
Mistake
Look…
Car joke
Call
Student joke
You do not like beautiful and glamorous…
When there is no internet
What’s more important?
Wait for me
Why can’t we be together?
A light breeze rushes into the open window, pulls at the light curtain. There was no one in the room, only the Black Cactus with sharp large needles was angry with the whole world. He was asleep, but this wind woke him up and made him get up from the pastels. The cactus grumbled, if only a little bit and he would have caught that butterfly in a dream and would have taken a piece of cake from her. What’s the cake! The whole world would be his!! A butterfly, light like the same breeze, soared from flower to flower, humming an uncomplicated song: “La-la-la la-la-la… the sun is me! How so good!.
Cactus looked at the alarm clock. it was already half past six. You could sleep for another half hour! Fool the wind! Well, what did he achieve!! It’s time! It’s time! Well, I got up and what!. What am I going to do now so early! The cactus grumbled. Grumbled as always. He always grumbles when he doesn’t get enough sleep. He went to the window, took his papers, which never run out, folded them in a pile and stuffed them in a suitcase, preparing to leave the house for work… Then he smelled the hot delicious buns that his mother was baking. He was very happy about this, even cheered up, but he remembered that his mother had died. It has long been gone. And he still could see her because of this work. Work.. work.. work all the time. Not to go to my mother, to visit the elderly, missing her only son, to whom she devoted her whole life. Mom understood everything. Of course, this is an important state work, responsible. She bragged to all the neighbors about her son, the boss, the Director of the meat processing plant. True, her neighbors never saw her vaunted son, they only met at the funeral. The cactus from unwanted memories completely turned sour and became like bitter pepper, the sun has rotted us. Buns.. these buns again… Where does this flavor come from? Only his mother could bake this way. … He leaned out the window, shaking his head left and right, trying to smell where the aroma of delicious, sugar buns came from. The city was still asleep, snoring quietly in its beds. There is no one on the street, only the janitor’s wife sweeps the yard again. Every morning from six to eight, she sweeps the courtyard, as invariably as this old two-story house for as long as he can remember. “Okay,” thought the cactus, it’s time already.!. Then, remembering something, Cactus again leaned out into the open window and yelled at the top of his voice:
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– Repair… We will make repairs! – Alik said resolutely and irrevocably, as if he had cut it off.
From that very day, repairs began. Not a simple repair, but with the tearing out of all the veins and meat from the old Khrushchev. It seemed that she was crying, losing her face, her value, her story. The dust from the fallen, old, destroyed plaster stood in a pillar so that nothing could be seen. One after another, the rooms turned from an old Khrushchev into a new fashionable one like on a glossy magazine of that same failed buyer. All the repairs cost him a round sum, and if you add everything up, it turns out just 12 million, no more, no less. Two months later, Alik updated his advertisement for the sale, displaying new beautiful pictures of his three-ruble note and waited.
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