“Dude, how do you even live in Moscow?! I was running down the street here as fast as I could
strength, but everyone was walking faster than me..."

It's spring, the girls are blooming. I'm running through the lobby as usual.
"Kievskaya-Filevskaya" in the direction of the escalator to Koltsevaya. Before
a beautiful maiden was frozen to the floor with a comb: powerful, like that of a sleek mare,
body, wheat, as thick as my hand, a braid flowing below the cast
hemispheres, a chintz sundress and a post-war style handbag...
While I was wondering which side to go around this sculptor’s model
Mukhina, a granny with a cart fluttered out from behind me (always
wondered what kind of power carries them faster than a healthy 40-year-old uncle) and
pestered the girl, saying, daughter, aren’t you feeling bad, maybe
Validolchik?
The young lady, with great difficulty, took her glassy gaze away from those floating away from under
feet into the terrible depths of the steps, looked pitifully at the grandmother and,
Drawing out her words, she said in a lazy chesty basso:
- Granny... I'm afraid...
In the end they saved the little girl. I held the cart, and grandma was elusive, but
With a precise movement she forced the beauty to step onto the marvelous staircase.

Russia is still alive, eh! :)

I was recently on a minibus, it was a weekday evening, everyone was tired, there were traffic jams. Here a young mother comes in with her son, about 4-6 years old, they give her a seat, she sits down, and her son sits down on his knees. So they go one, two, three stops, the boy looks at everything around him - the upholstery of the seats, the shop windows passing outside the window, the tired faces of fellow travelers, his mother’s bag... But the space of the minibus is limited, and he repeats his “route” - chairs, passengers, the window , then raises his eyes to his mother, looks her in the eyes and in a completely calm, I would even say businesslike tone, says:
- So, mom, I’m going to start whining now.

During the summer I went to the dacha past an abandoned construction site.

There, homeless people broke old concrete slabs and took out reinforcement from there. Iron costs 6-8 rubles per kg. This is just hellish work for pennies. With such labor costs you can earn much more. But they gradually dismantled the entire abandoned foundation of the building, about 50 by 30 meters long. What motivates them? Free schedule or no tax deductions?

Talking on the phone:
“We need two girls for the evening, only beautiful ones, for 3 hours, how much will an hour cost? Yes, in suits, just like last time. Those who were there that week are not needed, they are somehow modest, but they need to be actively given. If they give it well, we’ll give it to them on top. And definitely over 18, but not old or fat. In heels, of course. We'll feed and drink, of course. Payment immediately. Just send a photo first. We agreed with the security, everything is fine.”

So our marketer orders promoters for an urgent promotion, walking along the corridor of the business center.

I've been burring since childhood. Everyone always joked about this - in kindergarten, classmates, classmates, girlfriends, parents, colleagues...
I endured everything stoically. But when the letter “P” began to fail on my computer, I realized all the injustice of this world.

Since the beginning of the week, the hot water has been turned off. Due to my great laziness, I had to bother with saucepans and heating the water. And today, once again I climbed into the bathroom and tried to wash myself in cold water. I douse myself with water and scream, while puffing and groaning. I hear a neighbor’s voice from the bottom floor: “Look, a man washes himself in cold water and doesn’t die. And you’re not a man, fiddling with your basins.”

Bastard cat

I have a cat that made it to puberty and was given a cat. And the cat, although very sexually anxious, is still a virgin and does not know what to do with an equally virgin friend. Either he climbs across her and twitches, or he tries to climb on her head (probably a Frenchman...). He is so dissatisfied with the results of his attempts that their number has become minimal.

Here I am cleaning the room, and this couple has finally reached some consensus and merged in ecstasy. I am carrying an armful of clothes and from this armful a belt stretches across the floor. Seeing this, the cat suddenly stops his honorable occupation and runs to play with the belt. The cat was SO surprised by the gentleman’s escape that for the first time in my life I observed a truly stunned look on the animal’s face. I also probably thought, what kind of bastards men are...

A friend's cat named Auror began marking under the table in the kitchen. And the cat is beloved, smart, there is no way to offend him. We bought a bottle of stink. They watered it in the kitchen, it helped. When the bottle ran out, they left it empty under the table for Aurora’s edification. It was from then on that when a smart cat considered himself offended by something, he would come into the kitchen, yell at the cylinder, knock it down with his paw and make a puddle in that place. There you are..!

So, once again I came home late after another “workday”.
I asked my wife how she was doing at work.
And I heard an enchanting phrase that was completely in tune with my thoughts:
- Dear, if I tell you about all my problems today, and then you tell me about yours, then we will go to bed no earlier than three in the morning.

Love her.

I once met a friend on the street. And he’s just in church a little
I collected containers of holy water. We sit on a bench and talk. Summer, heat,
We slowly drink some water. Just about to leave, he comes up to us
Buharik.
- Are you Russian people?
- Otherwise!!!
- How about a beer then?
- No, we just drank a liter of holy water. We simply have nowhere to go.

You should have seen his face!!! But it was clear that he didn’t believe us.

I went to my Spanish bank to resolve all sorts of issues with my manager. Well, what SMS messages to send (this is not done through Internet banking, only with the manager), what credit cards to close (in Spain there is no point in using them) - in general, the usual turnover. We talked for about twenty minutes in Spanish: I was on a roll, I never even looked at the dictionary (c).

Everything has been decided, everything has been done, we say goodbye. The manager gets up, shakes my hand and says quite seriously in Spanish: “Alex, I’ve even begun to understand your Russian.”

P.S. I immediately remember an old joke about a Parisian store where there was a sign: “Here they understand the French you learned at school.”

I was told this story. I believe the narrator, but he is almost a participant. Came to his organization new employee. He’s still a fairly young man who retired from the army due to redundancy. It is not known where he served there, but he began to seriously master the computer already at this job. According to the narrator, he was a smart guy and learned everything quickly. Once he showed him the ability to view photographs of a series of streets and specific houses. But, apparently, it would be better if he didn’t know this. It soon became known that he was divorcing his wife. Looks like I caught him cheating. After everything happened, he himself told his teacher that the reason was the computer, specifically Yandex. Looking at the photo series around his house, he saw a colleague standing in front of him with his wife at the entrance. That one once had something to do with his long business trip, where he stayed for more than two months.

A respectful reason

I vouch for the truthfulness.

Once, while drunk, my father-in-law, the director of the plant, told an absolutely terrible story. A worker comes to the chief engineer and asks to be allowed to go home. He naturally asks about the reason. The worker hesitates, clenches and says that it is very necessary. The engineer is not an evil guy, so he answers: “I’ll let you go, but I need to indicate the reason for the absence in the documents.” He: “I cut off my finger with air scissors.”

The engineer almost died on the spot - an industrial accident. In short, an ambulance, a rush to heaven, etc. When the man was discharged, the labor safety commission came to the plant. The equipment works fine - you need to press two buttons at the same time for the scissors to work, so there are no free hands. They ask him to show how he managed to hurt himself. He calmly props up one button with a stick (a quite common thing), lays down a sheet of metal and CUT OFF HIS SECOND FINGER.

He later swore that it was an accident, but the commission, having regained consciousness, closed the case.

Once we were driving to the dacha, it was light. We were stuck in traffic. The car that was driving in front had no brakes. In the back seat sat two boys who, at the right moment, lifted a cardboard with the word “BRAKE” written on it. :)

At the beginning of the century, it was fashionable among the “golden youth” to huddle together in daddy’s Mercedes and Beemers at night and spread rubber on the asphalt of deserted squares and terminuses. Compared to the masterful cinematic drift, moving dad's tires in front of the chicks looked pathetic and very childish, but self-criticism was never strong point majors.

Yesterday I was walking from the last metro train in the direction of my wilderness. An absolutely empty street, a bus turning area. Along it... I would like to say - silently, but no, of course - with the roar of the engine and the sighs of the brakes, the KAMAZ waterer dances. Not a soul around, only two powerful fountains of water (both watering cans raised vertically upward) sparkle like diamonds in the yellow light of streetlights, which sometimes break through clouds of diesel smoke. My uncle dances masterfully, I once even imagined an invisible partner whom he leads under the waterfalls of his rain. (Kamazihu, yeah...)

I stood and looked for probably five minutes. I lit a cigarette. Seeing the light of the lighter and me, the driver somehow became confused and fell into a dull reality. He got out of the cab, clicked the watering cans down and started cleaning the street...

There were no tire tracks on the asphalt. He slid on the water.
(Not mine. Found on the Internet)

FREUDIAN SLIP
In a car showroom there is a citizen whose appearance is already quite ordinary for Moscow - even now he looks like a poster of an extremist organization banned in the Russian Federation. Nearby is my wife wrapped in a rug. People are jostling near a standard budget foreign car. The manager asks: Does she have a SELF-DEPRODUCTION? As it turned out, we were talking about remote engine start.

WHERE DOES THE TRAIL OF LIPSTICK LEAD...
On Saturday evening, when my wife came home from work, she found traces of lipstick on her cup.
Asks me a question:
- Did we have guests?
“No,” I say, “there was no one.”
- I don't use that kind of lipstick...
Word by word. Scandal and accusations of all mortal sins.
The next day, after conducting a thorough investigation, it turned out that the nine-year-old daughter had found her mother’s lipstick, bought long ago and now safely forgotten, and drank tea from her mother’s mug.

I remember this day. October 1, 1990. My mother got me a ticket to Crimea and all September the boys and I were tumbling into the sea from all over our vast homeland. Everyone spoke Russian, even Vitalik Tsitsialashvili from Navoi. Evpatoria, sunshine, do you know how to feed? Breakfast, second breakfast, afternoon tea, lunch, dinner, lunch. Every morning we went out to formation in white shirts and with pioneer ties. During the anthem, the most distinguished person raised the banner. It was wonderful! And then that day came... October 1... We were woken up by the pioneers at about 12 midnight. Drunk. And they said that tomorrow there was no need to go to the line, the pioneers were no more. I was twelve, I thought more about the death of Tsoi than about the fact that this was the beginning of the end of a huge country. And that these guys from Kazakhstan or Georgia, who are standing next to me, will become foreigners in a year... The next morning we arrived. To the line. In white shirts and red ties. They stood silently for ten minutes. But the counselors never came out, and no one raised the banner.

I live temporarily in Moscow and had to take a taxi at night. I caught a private seller, drove at most a kilometer, and asked the price. He says: "1700 rubles." Well, I naturally went nuts!
I tell him:
- It’s easier for me to ditch you...
And... I woke up.
P.S. I’m lying there, laughing: I threw him away!

It was quite a long time ago, perhaps it still exists, but I haven’t seen it for a long time. I'm in a taxi and there's a huge puddle ahead. Along the puddle stands the punks, in boots and jackets. The taxi driver accelerates. I told him:
- Damn, you're about to splash the children!
- Yes, they stand here on purpose, waiting to be sprayed. They kind of have a game like this. This isn't my first time passing through here.
We drive through a puddle at speed, the spray is like from a fire hose. I look back. Judging by their behavior, no one is upset. I remembered my childhood: puddles, homemade rafts, “collected” boots, dirty water...
Now I’m thinking: maybe it would be better really like this, and not like now - sitting in front of a monitor on the Internet?

I can’t vouch for the authenticity of the story, her brother told her from the words of his friends.
They decided to visit a newfangled water park in the neighboring region. We entered his address into the navigator and drove off. When the navigator lady reported, “You have arrived at your destination,” the friends looked around in confusion. There were only private buildings around.
When asked by a passerby “Where is the water park,” he giggled strangely nervously and waved his hand in the direction of a banner on which was written in huge letters “NO WATER PARK HERE!!!”

Women's...
A traffic cop stops me.
- “Lieutenant so-and-so. Why aren’t they wearing seat belts?”
- “Yes, Mr. Policeman, I just - I just unfastened - to fix my balls.”
A storm of emotions flashed across the officer’s face; the driver’s license fell out of the hands of the body bent in half, which, going into a fit of hysterical laughter, tried to show that it was time to drive faster.
For a long time I sincerely wondered why everyone was laughing at this story, but I was actually straightening the eggs lying in the back seat...

After moving to Germany, many migrants from Kazakhstan still had many good friends from their work colleagues in their former homeland. My cousin and his wife helped their good friends for several years with money and parcels, keeping them alive. Imagine his surprise, rather shock, when his friends called and said that they were going to Germany to visit with the aim of purchasing a Mercedes car. The car had to be no older than 5 years and then cost another mark from 5 to 7 thousand.

An uncle came to other relatives with a list of things that he wanted to purchase in Germany, and opposite each thing was the name of a relative who had to pay for the purchase.

The daughter-in-law's nephew from Kazakhstan was met at Frankfurt airport. He walked holding a small plastic bag, which contained one toothbrush. This was all his luggage, which he took with him, and he went to visit for a whole month, he didn’t even take his underpants with him.

I have a friend, a guy who is chatty and 100% frostbitten - preamble.

We are driving in my car around Kharkov, looking for a house with a specific number, and we are driving along the Poltava Highway (who knows, will understand) after the bridge there are cops, I think I’ll park and ask where the house number is such and such... I slow down near a young cop and the other a little side and further down the street actively chattering on his mobile phone... well, I opened the passenger window and through Dryulya I ask like Where is this street where is this house... he is trying to explain something, but he moves away that the elder one knows better... the one who on the phone p...dit... we get to him and I don’t have time to ask, so my friend gives it out the window - hearing the captain, the young man with a hundred hundred dollars has no change, drive a fifty-kopeck piece, he looked in his pockets without stopping talking, took out a fifty-kopeck piece, unfastened it, Dryulya I took it and we drove off... then I drove around this road for a week...

I don’t even know if this is good or not.

I'm on the subway. Something female enters the carriage, but has a homeless appearance and a corresponding smell. Half the car shies away from her like the plague; A woman approaches her, hands her a hundred and asks her to get out of the car. And then I came up with a business plan...

Dad came home from work, completely frozen. Feels unwell. Due to the commotion about the flu, I decided to take my temperature.
- 36.8. Oh, I'm the sickest person in the world. I need a jar of jam and a small bottle of cognac.

The first time I felt like a driver was not when I stopped breaking out in cold sweat from the mere thought that there was a car waiting for me in the parking lot.
And not when he started pressing on the brake while in the passenger seat.
And not even when he began to grunt in the direction of “dummies” and “dacha residents” and contemptuously call them “deer.”
And I became a driver at the moment when I was walking down the street, heard a noise from behind, completely mechanically raised my eyes to look in the rearview mirror and was shocked that the mirror was not there.

Dear friend! On this page you will find a selection of small or rather even very small stories with deep spiritual meaning. Some stories are only 4-5 lines, some a little more. Every story, no matter how short, reveals a larger story. Some stories are light and humorous, others are instructive and suggest deep philosophical thoughts, but all of them are very, very sincere.

The short story genre is notable for the fact that in a few words a big story is created, which invites you to stretch your brains and smile, or pushes the imagination into a flight of thoughts and understandings. After reading just this one page, you may get the impression that you have mastered several books.

This collection contains many stories about love and the theme of death, so close to it, the meaning of life and the spiritual experience of every moment. People often try to avoid the topic of death, but in several short stories on this page it is shown from such an original side that it makes it possible to understand it in a completely new way, and therefore begin to live differently.

Happy reading and interesting emotional experiences!

“Recipe for female happiness” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

Masha Skvortsova dressed up, put on makeup, sighed, made up her mind - and came to visit Petya Siluyanov. And he treated her to tea and amazing cakes. But Vika Telepenina didn’t dress up, didn’t put on makeup, didn’t sigh - and simply came to Dima Seleznev. And he treated her to vodka with amazing sausage. So there are countless recipes for women’s happiness.

"In Search of Truth" - Robert Tompkins

Finally, in this remote, secluded village, his search ended. Truth sat in a dilapidated hut by the fire.
He had never seen an older, uglier woman.
- Are you - Really?
The old, wizened hag nodded solemnly.
- Tell me, what should I tell the world? What message to convey?
The old woman spat into the fire and answered:
- Tell them that I am young and beautiful!

"Silver Bullet" - Brad D. Hopkins

Sales have fallen for six straight quarters. The ammunition factory suffered catastrophic losses and was on the verge of bankruptcy.
Chief Executive Scott Phillips had no idea what was going on, but shareholders were sure to blame him.
He opened the desk drawer, took out a revolver, put the muzzle to his temple and pulled the trigger.
Misfire.
“Okay, let’s take care of the product quality control department.”

"Once Upon a Time There Was Love"

And one day the Great Flood came. And Noah said:
“Only every creature - in pairs! And for singles - ficus!!!"
Love began to look for a mate - Pride, Wealth,
Glory, Joy, but they already had companions.
And then Separation came to her and said:
"I love you".
Love quickly jumped into the Ark with her.
But Separation actually fell in love with Love and did not
I wanted to part with her even on earth.
And now Separation always follows Love...

“Sublime Sadness” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

Love sometimes brings sublime sadness. At dusk, when the thirst for love was completely unbearable, student Krylov came to the house of his beloved, student Katya Moshkina from a parallel group, and climbed up the drainpipe to her balcony to make a confession. On the way, he diligently repeated the words that he would say to her, and got so carried away that he forgot to stop in time. So I stood sad all night on the roof of the nine-story building until the firefighters removed it.

“Mother” – Vladislav Panfilov

The mother was unhappy. She buried her husband and son, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. She remembered them small and thick-cheeked, and gray-haired, and hunched over. The mother felt like a lonely birch tree among a forest scorched by time. The mother begged to grant her death: any, the most painful one. Because she is tired of living! But I had to live on... And the only joy for the mother were the grandchildren of her grandchildren, just as big-eyed and chubby-cheeked. And she nursed them and told them all her life, and the lives of her children and her grandchildren... But one day giant blinding pillars grew around her mother, and she saw how her great-great-grandchildren were burned alive, and she herself screamed from the pain of melting skin and pulled to the sky withered yellow hands and cursed him for her fate. But the sky responded with a new whistle of cutting air and new flashes of fiery death. And in convulsions, the Earth began to stir, and millions of souls fluttered into space. And the planet tensed up in nuclear apoplexy and exploded into pieces...

The little pink fairy, swinging on an amber branch, chirped for the umpteenth time to her friends about how many years ago, flying to the other end of the universe, she noticed a bluish-green small planet sparkling in the rays of space. “Oh, she’s so wonderful! Oh! She is so beautiful! - the fairy cooed. “I've been flying over the emerald fields all day! Azure lakes! Silvery rivers! I felt so good that I decided to do some good deed!” And I saw a boy sitting alone on the shore of a tired pond, and I flew up to him and whispered: “I want to fulfill your deepest wish! Tell me it!” And the boy looked up at me with beautiful dark eyes: “It’s my mother’s birthday today. I want her, no matter what, to live forever!” “Oh, what a noble desire! Oh, how sincere it is! Oh, how sublime it is!” - the little fairies sang. “Oh, how happy is this woman who has such a noble son!”

“Lucky” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

He looked at her, admired her, trembled when he met: she sparkled against the background of his mundane everyday life, was sublimely beautiful, cold and inaccessible. Suddenly, having given her plenty of his attention, he felt that she, as if melting under his scorching gaze, began to reach out to him. And so, without expecting it, he came into contact with her... He came to his senses when the nurse was changing the bandage on his head.
“You are lucky,” she said affectionately, “rarely anyone survives from such icicles.”

"Wings"

“I don’t love you,” these words pierced the heart, turning out the insides with sharp edges, turning them into minced meat.

“I don’t love you,” simple six syllables, only twelve letters that kill us, shooting merciless sounds from our lips.

“I don’t love you,” there is nothing worse when a loved one says them. The one for whom you live, for whom you do everything, for whom you can even die.

“I don’t love you,” my eyes darken. First, peripheral vision turns off: a dark veil envelops everything around, leaving a small space. Then flickering, iridescent gray dots cover the remaining area. It's completely dark. You only feel your tears, a terrible pain in your chest, squeezing your lungs like a press. You feel squeezed and try to take up as little space as possible in this world, to hide from these hurtful words.

“I don’t love you,” your wings, which covered you and your loved one in difficult times, begin to crumble with already yellowed feathers, like November trees under a gust of autumn wind. A piercing cold passes through the body, freezing the soul. Only two processes, covered with light fluff, already stick out from the back, but even this withers away from the words, crumbling into silver dust.

“I don’t love you,” the letters dig into the remains of the wings like a screeching saw, tearing them out of the back, tearing the flesh to the shoulder blades. Blood flows down the back, washing away the feathers. Small fountains gush out from the arteries and it seems that new wings have grown - bloody wings, light, airy and spraying.

“I don’t love you,” there are no more wings. The blood stopped flowing, drying into a black crust on the back. What used to be called wings are now only barely noticeable tubercles, somewhere at the level of the shoulder blades. There is no more pain and the words remain just words. A set of sounds that no longer cause suffering, that don’t even leave traces.

The wounds have healed. Time cures…
Time heals even the worst wounds. Everything passes, even the long winter. Spring will come anyway, melting the ice in the soul. You hug your loved one, the dearest person, and clasp him with snow-white wings. Wings always grow back.

- I love you…

“Ordinary scrambled eggs” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

“Go, leave everyone. It’s better to be alone: ​​I’ll freeze, I’ll be unsociable, like a bump in a swamp, like a snowdrift. And when I lie down in the coffin, don’t you dare come to me to sob to your heart’s content for your own good, bending over the fallen body left by the muse, and the pen, and the shabby, oil-stained paper...” Having written this, the sentimentalist writer Sherstobitov re-read what he had written thirty times, he added “cramped” in front of the coffin and was so imbued with the resulting tragedy that he could not stand it and shed a tear for himself. And then his wife Varenka called him to dinner, and he was pleasantly satisfied with vinaigrette and scrambled eggs with sausage. Meanwhile, his tears had dried up, and he, returning to the text, first crossed out “cramped”, and then instead of “laying down in a coffin” he wrote “laying down on Parnassus”, because of which all subsequent harmony went to dust. “Well, to hell with harmony, I’d better go and stroke Varenka’s knee...” Thus, an ordinary scrambled egg was preserved for the grateful descendants of the sentimentalist writer Sherstobitov.

"Destiny" - Jay Rip

There was only one way out, for our lives were intertwined in too tangled a knot of anger and bliss to solve everything any other way. Let's trust the lot: heads - and we will get married, tails - and we will part forever.
The coin was tossed. She tinkled, spun and stopped. Eagle.
We stared at her in bewilderment.
Then, with one voice, we said, “Maybe one more time?”

“Chest” – Daniil Kharms

A man with a thin neck climbed into the chest, closed the lid behind him and began to choke.

“Here,” the man with a thin neck said, gasping, “I’m suffocating in the chest, because I have a thin neck.” The lid of the chest is closed and does not allow air to reach me. I will be suffocating, but I still won’t open the lid of the chest. Little by little I will die. I will see the struggle of life and death. The fight will take place unnaturally, with equal chances, because death naturally wins, and life, doomed to death, only fights in vain with the enemy, until the last minute, without losing vain hope. In this same struggle that will happen now, life will know the way to win: for this, life must force my hands to open the lid of the chest. Let's see: who wins? Only it smells awfully like mothballs. If life wins, I’ll cover the things in the chest with shag... Here it begins: I can’t breathe anymore. I'm dead, that's clear! There is no salvation for me anymore! And there is nothing sublime in my head. I'm suffocating!...

Oh! What is it? Now something has happened, but I can't figure out what it is. I saw something or heard something...
Oh! Did something happen again? My God! I can't breathe. I think I'm dying...

What else is this? Why am I singing? I think my neck hurts... But where is the chest? Why do I see everything that is in my room? There's no way I'm lying on the floor! Where's the chest?

The thin-necked man rose from the floor and looked around. The chest was nowhere to be found. On the chairs and bed were things taken from the chest, but the chest was nowhere to be found.

The man with the thin neck said:
“This means that life has defeated death in a way unknown to me.”

"Wretched" - Dan Andrews

They say evil has no face. Indeed, no feelings were reflected on his face. There was not a glimmer of sympathy on him, but the pain was simply unbearable. Can't he see the horror in my eyes and the panic on my face? He calmly, one might say, carried out his dirty work professionally, and at the end he politely said: “Rinse your mouth, please.”

"Dirty laundry"

One married couple moved to live in a new apartment. In the morning, as soon as she woke up, the wife looked out the window and saw a neighbor who was hanging out washed clothes to dry.
“Look at her dirty laundry,” she told her husband. But he was reading the newspaper and did not pay any attention to it.

“She probably has bad soap, or she doesn’t know how to do laundry at all. We should teach her.”
And so, every time the neighbor hung out the laundry, the wife was surprised at how dirty it was.
One fine morning, looking out the window, she cried out: “Oh! Today the laundry is clean! She must have learned how to do laundry!”
“No,” said the husband, “I just got up early today and washed the window.”

“I couldn’t wait” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

It was an unprecedented wonderful moment. Disdaining unearthly forces and his own path, he froze to look at her for the future. At first she took a very long time to take off her dress and fiddle with the zipper; then she let her hair down and combed it, filling it with air and silky color; then she pulled at the stockings, trying not to get them caught with her nails; then she hesitated with the pink lingerie, so ethereal that even her delicate fingers seemed rough. Finally she undressed all - but the month was already looking out the other window.

"Wealth"

One day a rich man gave a poor man a basket full of trash. The poor man smiled at him and left with the basket. I emptied it, cleaned it, and then filled it with beautiful flowers. He returned to the rich man and returned the basket to him.

The rich man was surprised and asked: “Why are you giving me this basket filled with beautiful flowers if I gave you garbage?”
And the poor man replied: “Everyone gives to the other what he has in his heart.”

“Don’t let good things go to waste” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

“How much do you charge?” - “Six hundred rubles per hour.” - “And in two hours?” - “A thousand.” He came to her, she smelled sweetly of perfume and skill, he was worried, she touched his fingers, his fingers were disobedient, crooked and absurd, but he clenched his will into a fist. Returning home, he immediately sat down at the piano and began to consolidate the scale he had just learned. The instrument, an old Becker, was given to him by his previous tenants. My fingers ached, my ears felt stuffy, my willpower grew stronger. The neighbors were banging on the wall.

“Postcards from the Other World” – Franco Arminio

Here the end of winter and the end of spring are approximately the same. The first roses serve as a signal. I saw one rose when they were taking me in an ambulance. I closed my eyes, thinking about this rose. In front, the driver and nurse were talking about a new restaurant. There you can eat your fill, and the prices are meager.

At some point I decided that I could become important person. I felt that death was giving me a reprieve. Then I plunged headlong into life, like a child with his hand in a stocking with baptismal gifts. Then my day came. Wake up, my wife told me. Wake up, she kept repeating.

It was a fine sunny day. I didn't want to die on a day like this. I always thought that I would die at night, with dogs barking. But I died at noon when a cooking show started on TV.

They say people most often die at dawn. For years I woke up at four in the morning, stood up and waited for the fateful hour to pass. I opened a book or turned on the TV. Sometimes he went outside. I died at seven in the evening. Nothing special happened. The world has always caused me vague anxiety. And then this anxiety suddenly passed.

I was ninety-nine. My children came to the nursing home just to talk to me about my centenary celebrations. None of this bothered me at all. I didn't hear them, I only felt my fatigue. And he wanted to die so as not to feel her either. This happened in front of my eldest daughter. She gave me a piece of apple and talked about a cake with the number one hundred on it. The one should be as long as a stick, and the zeros should be like bicycle wheels, she said.

My wife is still complaining about the doctors who didn’t treat me. Although I always considered myself incurable. Even when Italy won the World Cup, even when I got married.

By the age of fifty, I had the face of a man who could die any minute. I died at ninety-six, after a long agony.

What I always enjoyed was the nativity scene. Every year he turned out more and more elegant. I displayed it in front of the door of our house. The door was constantly open. I divided the only room with red and white tape, like when repairing roads. I treated those who stopped to admire the nativity scene with beer. I talked in detail about papier-mâché, musk, sheep, wise men, rivers, castles, shepherds and shepherdesses, caves, the Baby, the guiding star, electrical wiring. Electrical wiring was my pride. I died alone on Christmas night, looking at the nativity scene sparkling with all the lights.

Everyone has moments in life when difficulties overcome them, and their hands seem about to give up... The stories of these amazingly strong-willed people will help many of us understand that we can cope with any situation and under any life circumstances, the main thing is to believe in yourself and to your strengths!

/ Stories from life

/ Stories from life

The history of the creation of an amateur series about the morals and customs of the African country of Ghana and the position of women in society. Even if you are a doctor of science or, by chance, the owner own business, for an African man this makes no difference. You are a woman, which means you should not have a personal opinion, as well as desires.

/ Stories from life

Timur Belkin is a professional photographer, creates websites, develops the public “Other Odessa”, in which he covers informal events of the seaside city, and conducts performances as part of the authentic La Briar theater. But today we are going to talk about the features of hitchhiking in our country.

/ Stories from life

We are the “fast food generation”. We do everything quickly, in a hurry: instant pictures, short sms, express trips... A crazy kaleidoscope of events behind which the essence is not visible... Why are we in such a hurry to live? This question was asked to the heroine of the story by an old antique dealer. And the search for an answer helped the girl find her calling and taught her to value time.

/ Stories from life

On the International Day of the Girl, which is celebrated today all over the world in support of equal rights, I would like to remind you of such an important, integral (albeit sometimes hated) part of our lives as education. To get an education, for example, in Afghanistan, girls literally risk their lives...

/ Stories from life

How to get into winter in summer, cause rain on a sunny morning and curb the wind? Why is filming never dependent on the weather forecast and how long does it take to place a lime in a block of ice? In the kingdom of the Snow Queen they know the answers, find out too.

/ Stories from life

She looks better than the flowers on the dress. With a warm look, a caramel smile. There is a confident calm next to her. She says Vajra, and I want to listen to her. She says awareness, and this needs to be written down. And read it. After all, this is yoga. And something else.

/ Stories from life

"You need to live a dream and think about it. It needs to be allowed to grow stronger so that it does not shrink in front of public opinion and criticism. To know that it is unique only because it originates from love. For the love of photography." We talk about the dream of becoming a photographer.

/ Stories from life

What kind of business becomes profitable, how to survive frustration, build your own reality and want to get married correctly. The story is told by a girl from the list of Top 100 entrepreneurs in Europe, who worked at Google and Cisco in Silicon Valley and attracted $3 million in investment for her startup.

/ Stories from life

Pole dance is the toughest type of dancing, which requires not just coordination and flexibility, but remarkable strength in the arms, abs and other muscles. Acrobatics. Stretch marks. Soldier's work. Expander in hands. And love. Because how can you endure all this if you don’t love this activity?

The father left the family about a year after the birth of his daughter. Before that, we lived together for another year. For me, my husband's departure was a real shock. There were no scandals in our family. But the husband just took it and left. On Friday evening after work, he came home with a friend. His friend was waiting for him in the car. My husband came home and said he was leaving me. I started collecting things. I sat with my daughter on the sofa and could not believe the reality of what was happening. I couldn’t watch my husband shoveling his clothes into bags. I took my daughter and went with her to the kitchen. I just needed to feed the baby.

I decided to write here to convey to people not only my position, but also the position of many doctors. Many patients are confident that doctors are indifferent to human lives, feelings, and suffering. As if the profession suppresses everything human in doctors and as if we are incapable of empathy. This is wrong.

I lived with my wife for 10 years. But a year ago scandals began. As if we were carrying out some kind of plan: every month we quarrel a couple of times. The last time this happens... Take your wife and tell me: “You can leave the family, but the children are not yours at all.” If you don’t know how to make a person feel bad, then say that the children you love are not from him.

Good afternoon. Lived in Australia for 5 recent years. I myself come from Ukraine. My hometown is Chernivtsi. I have been looking for a country to move to for quite some time. I think it’s worth telling what prompted me to move.

Firstly, I was looking for a country where I could raise children and be sure that tomorrow everything would not go to hell. Secondly, I was simply desperate to find a normal job in Chernivtsi. Many of my friends went to work in neighboring Poland. I didn’t want to work around the clock in greenhouses or on some mushroom farm, and end up getting a little more than I would have earned in Ukraine.

At first I wanted to indicate my brother’s first and last name, but he didn’t allow me. Shame on him. That's why I'll write it like this. This story is primarily aimed at people who believe that there will be nothing bright and good in their lives.

She lived all her life in the Voronezh region. She raised three children. Now I am 58 years old. I don’t seem to feel like an old lady, I try not to attach importance to my sores, chronic fatigue. But I feel that in just a few more years I will finally lose ground.

My classmates called me bighead back in high school. At the age of 16, I was already 195 cm tall. I did not play basketball or volleyball. Apparently, because of good food or radiation, it grew so big. At first they called me names on the sly, and then openly called me a big ass. I couldn't stand my classmates. The tallest guy in our class didn’t even reach 190 cm.

All my life I worked on one large website. We used to have a print edition. Now only the websites remain.

Most of our people are on staff, but there are also remote workers (mostly designers, a system administrator and several copywriters; they have recently begun to attract programmers). All deleters work after the fact: completed a certain amount of work at an agreed rate - at the end of the month we send money to an electronic wallet or card.