Only true experts can create short stories about love. human soul. In the work short prose reflecting deep feelings is not so easy. The Russian classic Ivan Bunin did an excellent job with this. Ivan Turgenev, Alexander Kuprin, Leonid Andreev and other writers also created interesting short stories about love. In this article we will look at the authors of foreign and Russian literature, whose works contain small lyrical works.

Ivan Bunin

Short stories about love... What should they be? In order to understand this, you need to read Bunin's works. This writer is consummate master sentimental prose. His works are examples of this genre. IN famous collection « Dark alleys" Thirty-eight entered romantic stories. In each of them, the author not only revealed the deep experiences of his characters, but was also able to convey how powerful love is. After all, this feeling can change a person’s destiny.

Such short stories about love as “Caucasus”, “Dark Alleys”, “ Late hour", can tell more about a great feeling than hundreds of sentimental novels.

Leonid Andreev

Love for all ages. Talented writers dedicated short stories about love not only to the pure feelings of young people. For an essay on this topic, which is sometimes asked at school, the material can be the work of Leonid Andreev “Herman and Martha”, the main characters of which are extremely far from the age of Romeo and Juliet. The action of this story takes place in one of the cities of the Leningrad region at the beginning of the century. Then the place where the tragic event described by the Russian writer took place belonged to Finland. According to the laws of this country, people who have reached the age of fifty can marry only with the permission of their children.

The love story of Herman and Martha was sad. The closest people in their lives did not want to understand the feelings of two middle-aged people. The heroes of Andreev’s story could not be together, and therefore the story ended tragically.

Vasily Shukshin

Short stories about, if they are created by a real artist, are especially heartfelt. After all stronger feelings what a woman feels for her child, there is nothing in the world. Screenwriter and director Vasily Shukshin told about this with sad irony in the story “ Mother's heart».

The main character of this work is in trouble own fault. But the mother’s heart, although wise, does not recognize any logic. A woman overcomes unimaginable obstacles to free her son from prison. “A Mother’s Heart” is one of the most heartfelt works Russian prose dedicated to love.

Lyudmila Kulikova

Another work about the most powerful feeling is the story “We Met.” Lyudmila Kulikova dedicated it to the love of her mother, whose life ends after the betrayal of her only beloved son. This woman breathes, talks, smiles. But she no longer lives. After all, the son, who was the meaning of her life, did not make himself known for more than twenty years. Kulikova's story is heartfelt, sad and very instructive. Mother's love- the brightest thing a person can have. To betray her would be to commit the greatest sin.

Anatoly Aleksin

A short story called “Homemade Essay” is dedicated to both maternal and youthful love. One day, Aleksin’s hero, the boy Dima, discovers a letter in an old thick encyclopedia. The message was written many years ago, and its author is no longer alive. He was a tenth grade student, and the addressee was a classmate with whom he was in love. But the letter remained unanswered, because the war came. The author of the letter died without sending it. The girl for whom the romantic lines were intended graduated from school, college, and got married. Her life went on. The mother of the author of this letter stopped smiling forever. After all, it is impossible to survive your child.

Stefan Zweig

The famous Austrian prose writer also created long and short stories about love. One of these works is called “Letter from a Stranger.” When you read the confession of the heroine of this short story, who all her life loved a man who did not remember her face or name, you become very sad. But at the same time, there is hope that a real sublime and selfless feeling still exists, and is not just fiction talented writer.

New Time magazine once announced a competition for the best short story: the length was limited by the number of words, there could not be more than 55. Unexpectedly, the magazine's editor Steve Moss received such a response that he was forced to hire two assistants just to read all the stories received . It was very difficult to choose - many authors demonstrated brilliant mastery of syllables and words. Here are some of the most interesting stories.

Miserable, 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 asked: “Rinse your mouth, please.”

Rendezvous, Nicole Weddle

The phone rang.

Hello,” she whispered.

Victoria, it's me. Let's meet at the pier at midnight.

OK, darling.

And please don’t forget to take a bottle of champagne with you,” he said.

I won't forget, dear. I want to be with you tonight.

Hurry up, I have no time to wait! - he said and hung up.

She sighed, then smiled.

I wonder who it is,” she said.

What the Devil Wants, Brian Newell

The two boys stood and watched Satan slowly walk away. The sparkle of his hypnotic eyes still clouded their heads.

Listen, what did he want from you?

My soul. And from you?

A coin for a pay phone. He urgently needed to call.

Do you want to go and eat?

I want to, but now I have no money at all.

It's OK. I have plenty.

Higher Education, Ron Bast

At university we just wiped our pants down,” Jennings said, washing his dirty hands. - After all these budget cuts, they don't teach you much, they just gave estimates and everything went on as usual.

So how did you study?

But we didn’t study. However, you can watch me work.

The nurse opened the door.

Dr. Jennings, you're needed in the operating room.

The Decisive Moment, Tina Milburn

She could almost hear the doors of her prison slamming shut.

Freedom is gone forever, now her fate is in someone else’s hands and she will never see freedom.

Crazy thoughts flashed through her head about how nice it would be to fly far, far away. But she knew that it was impossible to hide.

She turned to the groom with a smile and repeated: “Yes, I agree.”

Hide and Seek, Kurt Homan

Ninety-nine, one hundred! Ready or not, here I come!

I hate driving, but for me it's much easier than hiding. Entering a dark room, I whisper to those who are hiding inside: “They hit and hit!”

They follow me along the long corridor with their eyes, and in the mirrors hanging on the walls my figure in a black cassock and with a scythe in his hands is reflected.

Bed Story, Geoffrey Whitmore

Watch out baby, it's loaded,” he said as he walked back into the bedroom.

Her back rested on the headboard of the bed.

Is this for your wife?

No. It would be risky. I'll hire a hitman.

What if the killer is me?

He grinned.

Who is smart enough to hire a woman to kill a man?

She licked her lips and aimed her sights at him.

Your wife's.

In the hospital, Barnaby Conrades

She drove the car at breakneck speed. Lord, if only I could make it on time.

But from the expression on the face of the doctor from the intensive care unit, she understood everything.

She began to sob.

Is he conscious?

Mrs. Allerton,” the doctor said softly, “you should be happy.” His last words were: “I love you, Mary.”

She looked at the doctor and turned away.

“Thank you,” Judith said coldly.

The Beginning, Enrique Cavalitto

She was angry with him. In their idyllic life, they had almost everything, but she longed for one thing - something they never had. Only his cowardice was a hindrance.

Then it will be necessary to get rid of it, but it’s too early. It's better to be calm and cunning. Beautiful in her nakedness, she grabbed the fruit.

“Adam,” she called quietly.

Window, Jane Orvey

Ever since Rita was brutally murdered, Carter has been sitting by the window. No TV, reading, correspondence. His life is what is seen through the curtains. He doesn't care who brings the food, who pays the bills, he doesn't leave the room. His life is passing athletes, the change of seasons, passing cars, the ghost of Rita.

Carter doesn't realize that the felt-lined chambers have no windows.

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 I'm young and beautiful!

Shares five with us wonderful stories famous writers. If you don’t have time to start a lengthy work or want to get acquainted with the author’s work, we highly recommend starting with them.

What could be more magical than immersing yourself in the endless world of your favorite author’s storytelling for a few hours? But it happens that circumstances develop in such a way that you don’t have the desired time to read, but the desire to, at least for a short time, be imbued with the reality invented by someone else’s genius remains. Or, for example, you have just finished a voluminous book and are not yet ready to embark on another equally long journey. For such situations and just in case you want an easy, worthy read, I have collected for you 10 stories no longer than 100 pages that will leave a pleasant aftertaste and a desire to definitely get to know the author’s work in more detail.

One of the brightest, but at the same time sad and poignant stories I have read. The author again reveals to us the unclear veil that envelops the lives of his constant heroes - touching dreamers forced to live in reality existing world. The book tells about the warm friendship of a little boy and a middle-aged woman, his distant relative, living with him under the same roof. Be sure to read this work while there is still snow, then you, like me, will definitely hear the ringing bark of the Kinglet, feel the aroma of spices and hot Christmas pies. It has become a good tradition for me to re-read this book on Christmas Eve. And every time you feel sad with her, marvel at such a subtle and fragile beauty of the style, with bated breath, count the accumulated savings together with the heroes, make a kite, receive gifts on the most wonderful morning of the year and decorate the spreading spruce, which fills every corner of the house with the smell of pine needles. And every time you are amazed at how much beauty can be contained in just over 20 pages, if you choose the right words.

“Not only has she never gone to the cinema, she has never been to a restaurant, did not move more than five miles from home, did not receive or send telegram; I never read anything other than comics and the Bible, I never used cosmetics, did not swear, did not wish harm to anyone, did not lie with intent, did not let a hungry dog ​​pass so as not to feed it. Here are some of her things: she killed with a hoe the largest rattlesnake ever seen in our district (sixteen rings on the tail); she sniffs tobacco (secretly from domestic); tames hummingbirds (try it! And she has them swinging on finger); tells ghost stories (we both believe in ghosts), to They are so terrible that even in July they make your skin feel cold; talking with herself; takes walks in the rain; grows the most beautiful city ​​Japanese quince..."

Another great piece that I definitely want to return to. And the second, which made me feel such heart-aching pity that, having already turned the last page, I still cannot cope with my emotions. The author tells the story of one short trip of forced fellow travelers, which was interrupted by unforeseen difficulties. We will see in a stagecoach stuck with its wheels in the snow and two nuns in loose robes whispering “Pater” and “Ave”, and several married couples in the depths of the carriage, personifying prosperity and power, and the red-bearded, good-natured democrat Cornude, and, of course, main character- a ruddy, plump “girl” prostitute"nicknamed Pyshka. And we have to live together with the heroes short story, fully filled with both goodness and cruelty. A story about human prejudices, compassion, meanness and self-sacrifice. If you happen to have a collection of the writer's stories in your hands, also read Miss Harriet if you're in the mood to hear about pure and sad love, or Roger's Remedy if you want something lighter and with a touch of humor.

“The snow became harder, and the stagecoach was now rolling faster. And all the way, all the way to Dieppe, during long, dull hours of travel, on all the potholes, first at dusk, and then at complete darkness, Cornudet, with ferocious persistence, continued his monotonous and vindictive whistling, which forced his tired and irritated neighbors to involuntarily follow the song from beginning to end, to remember every word of it in time with the melody. And Pyshka kept crying, and at times sobs, which she was unable to restrain, could be heard in the darkness between the stanzas of “Marseillaise.”

Fitzgerald, one of the most famous representatives « lost generation" V American literature, the creator of the “jazz era,” reveals a completely different side of his literary talent in the above work. And even if you are already familiar with the film adaptation of the story, where the main roles were played by Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett, be sure to read the book. It is full of a completely different special mood, subtle irony and is very easy to read. In a very small number of pages (which will come as a surprise to you after watching the film of the same name), an amazing ring of stories about life, death, youth and old age, and, of course, about love is revealed.

“Benjamin Button—as he was called, abandoning the very appropriate but too provocative name Methuselah—although he had an old man’s stoop, he was five feet eight inches tall. Clothes did not hide this, nor did short haircut and dyed eyebrows did not hide dull, faded eyes. The nanny, who had been taken to the child in advance, as soon as she saw him, left the house indignantly.
But Mr. Button was determined: Benjamin is a baby and should be one. First of all, he announced that if Benjamin did not drink warm milk, he would not receive anything at all, but then he was persuaded to make peace on bread and butter and even oatmeal. One day he brought home a rattle and, giving it to Benjamin, demanded in no uncertain terms that he play with it, after which the old man, with a tired look, took it and obediently shook it from time to time.”

The book has about 120 pages, and although it goes a little beyond the size I outlined, I couldn’t help but include it in the list. It's amazingly light and easy piece, written in a beautiful style. The book talks about the life of 13-year-old Gregoire, about his dreams, about what fills the protagonist’s everyday life, what comes easy to him and what doesn’t. It’s also about childhood and the Real Grandfather. Through the eyes of a little boy, we look at completely unchildish questions and find amazing answers to them. It’s definitely worth reading; the book will make you smile and think at the same time more than once.

“Until I was three years old, I can say for sure, I lived happily. I don't remember it well, but it seems so to me. I played, watched a cartoon about a bear cub ten times in a row, drew pictures and came up with a million adventures for Grodudu - this was my favorite plush puppy. Mom told me that I would sit alone in my room for hours and never get bored, chatting incessantly, as if to myself. So I think: I probably lived a happy life.”

Many wonderful works of small volume were written by our domestic writers and are probably familiar to a good half of us from school curriculum. But I wanted to complete the list with “Asey”, because the lightness of the narrative, the elusive smell of the mountain air of a small town and the author’s chosen approach to the work as a memoir of the main character together create the very atmosphere that is one way or another inherent in all of the above books in their own way. Everything is beautiful here: the landscapes, and short descriptions of the life of the townspeople, and the sadness with which the hero remembers the old days, and Asya’s windy, wild character. A fleeting story of unfulfilled love, leaving bright memories and regrets, will give you wonderful moments on its pages.

“I loved wandering around the city then; the moon seemed to be looking intently at him from clear skies; and the city felt this gaze and stood sensitively and peacefully, completely bathed in its light, this serene and at the same time quietly soul-stirring light. The rooster on the high Gothic bell tower glittered with pale gold; The streams shimmered like gold across the black gloss of the river; thin candles (the German is thrifty!) glowed modestly in the narrow windows under the slate roofs; the vines mysteriously poked out their curled tendrils from behind the stone fences; something ran in the shadows nearby old well on the triangular square, the sleepy whistle of the night watchman suddenly sounded, a good-natured dog grumbled in a low voice, and the air was caressing his face, and the linden trees smelled so sweet that his chest involuntarily breathed deeper and deeper, and the word: “Gretchen” is not an exclamation, It’s not the right question - that’s what was asked on the lips.”

website represents the most short stories-masterpieces, which only exist on the Internet. Some of them fit into one sentence and the end of this sentence simply arouses great interest in the reader. Here are really worthwhile things that you will be interested in reading.

"I killed my grandmother this morning." With such a phrase, F. Roosevelt attracted the attention of his distracted interlocutor.
The ability to tell a lot in a few words, give food for thought, awaken feelings and emotions is the highest degree of language proficiency and highest level writing skills. And we have a lot to learn from the masters of brevity.
In this topic Office plankton put together a small but exciting collection of the shortest literary stories, demonstrating the talent of writers and their unique command of words.

* * *

Hemingway once made a bet that he would write a story consisting of only 4 words, capable of touching any reader. The writer managed to win the argument:
“Children's shoes for sale. "Unworn" (“For sale: baby shoes, never used”)

* * *

Frederick Brown composed the shortest scary story ever written:
“The last man on Earth was sitting in a room. There was a knock on the door..."

* * *

American writer O. Henry won the competition for the shortest story that has all the components of a traditional story - a plot, a climax and a denouement:
“The driver lit a cigarette and bent over the gas tank to see how much gasoline was left. The deceased was twenty-three years old.”

* * *

Alan E. Mayer "Bad Luck"
I woke up with severe pain throughout my body. I opened my eyes and saw a nurse standing by my bed.
“Mr. Fujima,” she said, “you were lucky to survive the bombing of Hiroshima two days ago.” But now you are in the hospital, you are no longer in danger.
A little alive from weakness, I asked:
- Where I am?
“To Nagasaki,” she answered.

* * *

Jane Orvis "Window"
Ever since Rita was brutally murdered, Carter has been sitting by the window. No TV, reading, correspondence. His life is what is seen through the curtains. He doesn't care who brings the food, who pays the bills, he doesn't leave the room. His life is passing athletes, the change of seasons, passing cars, the ghost of Rita.
Carter doesn't realize that the felt-lined chambers have no windows.

* * *

The British also organized a competition for the most short story. But according to the terms of the competition, the queen, God, sex, and mystery must be mentioned in it. First place was awarded to the author of the following story:
“Oh, God,” exclaimed the queen, “I’m pregnant and I don’t know from whom!”

* * *

Larisa Kirkland "The Proposal"
Starlight Night. The most the right time. Romantic dinner. Cozy Italian restaurant. Small black dress. Luxurious hair, sparkling eyes, silvery laughter. We've been together for two years. Wonderful time! Real love, best friend, no one else. Champagne! I offer my hand and heart. On one knee. Are people watching? Well, let! Beautiful diamond ring. Blush on the cheeks, charming smile.
How, no?!

* * *

A classic example of Spartan brevity comes from a letter from King Philip II of Macedonia, who conquered many Greek cities:
“I advise you to surrender immediately, because if my army enters your lands, I will destroy your gardens, enslave your people and destroy your city.”
To this the Spartan ephors responded in one word: "If".

* * *

Charles Enright "Ghost"
As soon as this happened, I hurried home to tell my wife the sad news. But she didn't seem to listen to me at all. She didn't notice me at all. She looked right through me and poured herself a drink. She turned on the TV.
At that moment there was a phone call. She walked over and picked up the phone. I saw her face wrinkle. She cried bitterly.

* * *

Robert Tompkins "In Search of Truth"
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.
- 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!

* * *

Victor Hugo sent the publisher the manuscript of the novel Les Misérables with a covering letter:
«?»
The answer was no less laconic:
«!»

* * *

An elderly French woman won the competition for the shortest autobiography and wrote:
“I used to have a smooth face and a wrinkled skirt, but now it’s the other way around”

* * *

And in conclusion, Valery Bryusov’s famous monostich of 1895:
"Oh close your pale legs."

Valentin Berestov

There was a time when birds could not sing.

And suddenly they learned that in one distant country there lived an old man, a wise man who teaches music.

Then the birds sent the Stork and the Nightingale to him to check if this was so.

The stork was in a hurry. He couldn't wait to become the world's first musician.

He was in such a hurry that he ran to the sage and didn’t even knock on the door, didn’t greet the old man, and shouted with all his might right in his ear:

Hey old man! Come on, teach me music!

But the sage decided to first teach him politeness.

He took the Stork out the threshold, knocked on the door and said:

You have to do it like this.

All clear! - Stork was happy.

Is this what music is? - and flew away to quickly surprise the world with his art.

The nightingale arrived later on its small wings.

He timidly knocked on the door, said hello, asked for forgiveness for disturbing me and said that he really wanted to study music.

The sage liked the friendly bird. And he taught the nightingale everything he knew.

Since then, the modest Nightingale has become the best singer in the world.

And the eccentric Stork can only knock with his beak. Moreover, he boasts and teaches other birds:

Hey, do you hear? You have to do it like this, like this! This is real music! If you don't believe me, ask an old sage.

How to find a track

Valentin Berestov

The guys went to visit their grandfather the forester. We went and got lost.

They look, Squirrel is jumping over them. From tree to tree. From tree to tree.

Guys - to her:

Belka, Belka, tell me, Belka, Belka, show me, How to find the path to grandpa’s lodge?

“Very simple,” Belka answers.

Jump from this tree to that one, from that one to the crooked birch tree. From the crooked birch tree you can see a large, large oak tree. The roof is visible from the top of the oak tree. This is the gatehouse. Well, what about you? Jump!

Thank you, Belka! - the guys say. - Only we don’t know how to jump on trees. We'd better ask someone else.

The Hare is jumping. The guys sang their song to him too:

Bunny Bunny, tell me, Bunny, Bunny, show me, How to find the path to grandpa's lodge?

To the lodge? - asked the Hare. - There is nothing simpler. At first it will smell like mushrooms. So? Then - hare cabbage. So? Then it smells like a fox hole. So? Skip this smell to the right or left. So? When it is left behind, smell it like this and you will smell the smoke. Jump straight onto it without turning anywhere. This is the forester grandfather setting the samovar.

“Thank you, Bunny,” the guys say. “It’s a pity that our noses are not as sensitive as yours.” I'll have to ask someone else.

They see a snail crawling.

Hey, Snail, tell me, Hey, Snail, show me, How to find the path to grandpa’s lodge?

It’s a long time to tell,” sighed the Snail. - Lu-u-better, I’ll take you there-u-u. Follow me.

Thank you, Snail! - the guys say. - We have no time to crawl. We'd better ask someone else.

A bee sits on a flower.

Guys to her:

Bee, Bee, tell me, Bee, Bee, show me, How to find the path to grandpa’s lodge?

Well, well, says the bee. - I’ll show you... Look where I’m flying. Follow. See my sisters. Where they go, you go too. We bring honey to grandpa's apiary. Well, goodbye! I'm in a big hurry. W-w-w...

And she flew away. The guys didn’t even have time to say thank you to her. They went to where the bees were flying and quickly found the guardhouse. What a joy! And then grandfather treated them to tea with honey.

Honest caterpillar

Valentin Berestov

The caterpillar considered itself very beautiful and did not let a single drop of dew pass without looking at it.

How good am I! - the Caterpillar rejoiced, looking with pleasure at its flat face and arching its furry back to see two golden stripes on it.

It's a shame that no one notices this.

But one day she got lucky. A girl walked through the meadow and picked flowers. The caterpillar climbed to the very top beautiful flower and began to wait.

That's disgusting! It's disgusting to even look at you!

Ah well! - the Caterpillar got angry. “Then I give my honest caterpillar word that no one, ever, anywhere, for anything, under any circumstances, will ever see me again!”

You gave your word - you need to keep it, even if you are a Caterpillar. And the Caterpillar crawled up the tree. From trunk to branch, from branch to branch, from branch to branch, from branch to twig, from twig to leaf.

She took out a silk thread from her abdomen and began to wrap herself around it. She worked for a long time and finally made a cocoon.

Phew, I'm so tired! - the Caterpillar sighed. - I'm completely exhausted.

It was warm and dark in the cocoon, there was nothing more to do, and the Caterpillar fell asleep.

She woke up because her back was itching terribly. Then the Caterpillar began to rub against the walls of the cocoon. She rubbed and rubbed, rubbed right through them and fell out.

But she fell somehow strangely - not down, but up.

And then the Caterpillar saw the same girl in the same meadow.

"Horrible! - thought the Caterpillar. “I may not be beautiful, it’s not my fault, but now everyone will know that I’m also a liar.” I gave an honest assurance that no one would see me, and I didn’t keep it. A shame!" And the Caterpillar fell into the grass.

And the girl saw her and said:

Such a beauty!

So trust people,” grumbled the Caterpillar.

Today they say one thing, and tomorrow they say something completely different.

Just in case, she looked into the dew drop. What's happened? In front of her is an unfamiliar face with a long, very long mustache.

The caterpillar tried to arch its back and saw that large multi-colored wings appeared on its back.

Oh that's it! - she guessed. - A miracle happened to me. The most ordinary miracle: I became a Butterfly!

This happens. And she merrily circled over the meadow, because she did not give the butterfly’s honest word that no one would see her.

Magic word

V.A. Oseeva

A little old man with a long gray beard was sitting on a bench and drawing something in the sand with an umbrella.
. “Move over,” Pavlik told him and sat down on the edge.
The old man moved and, looking at the boy’s red, angry face, said:
- Did something happen to you? - Well, okay! “What do you want?” Pavlik looked sideways at him.

“I’ll go to my grandmother. She's just cooking. Will he drive away or not?
Pavlik opened the door to the kitchen. The old woman was removing hot pies from the baking sheet.
The grandson ran up to her, turned her red, wrinkled face with both hands, looked into her eyes and whispered:
- Give me a piece of pie... please.
Grandma straightened up. Magic word it shone in every wrinkle, in the eyes, in the smile.
“I wanted something hot... something hot, my darling!” she said, choosing the best, rosy pie.
Pavlik jumped for joy and kissed her on both cheeks.
"Wizard! Wizard!" - he repeated to himself, remembering the old man.
At dinner, Pavlik sat quietly and listened to his brother’s every word. When his brother said that he would go boating, Pavlik put his hand on his shoulder and quietly asked:
- Take me, please. Everyone at the table immediately fell silent.
The brother raised his eyebrows and grinned.
“Take it,” the sister suddenly said. - What is it worth to you!
- Well, why not take it? - Grandma smiled. - Of course, take it.
“Please,” Pavlik repeated.

The brother laughed loudly, patted the boy on the shoulder, ruffled his hair:
- Oh, you traveler! Okay, get ready!
“It helped! It helped again!”
Pavlik jumped out from the table and ran into the street. But the old man was no longer in the park.
The bench was empty, and only incomprehensible signs drawn by an umbrella remained on the sand.

Badly

V.A. Oseeva
The dog barked furiously, falling on its front paws.

Right in front of her, pressed against the fence, sat a small, disheveled kitten. He opened his mouth wide and meowed pitifully.

Two boys stood nearby and waited to see what would happen.

A woman looked out the window and hurriedly ran out onto the porch. She drove the dog away and angrily shouted to the boys:

Shame on you!

What's a shame? We didn't do anything! - the boys were surprised.

This is bad! - the woman answered angrily.

Which is easier?

V.A. Oseeva
Three boys went into the forest. There are mushrooms, berries, birds in the forest. The boys went on a spree.

We didn’t notice how the day passed. They go home - they are afraid:

It will hit us at home!

So they stopped on the road and thought what was better: to lie or to tell the truth?

“I’ll say,” says the first, “that a wolf attacked me in the forest.”

The father will be afraid and will not scold.

“I’ll say,” says the second, “that I met my grandfather.”

My mother will be happy and will not scold me.

“And I’ll tell the truth,” says the third. “It’s always easier to tell the truth, because it’s the truth and there’s no need to invent anything.”

So they all went home.

As soon as the first boy told his father about the wolf, look, the forest guard is coming.

“No,” he says, “there are wolves in these places.” The father got angry. For the first guilt I was angry, and for the lie - twice as angry.

The second boy told about his grandfather. And the grandfather is right there - coming to visit. Mother found out the truth. For the first guilt I was angry, but for the lie I was twice as angry.

And the third boy, as soon as he arrived, immediately confessed to everything. His aunt grumbled at him and forgave him.

good

V.A. Oseeva

Yurik woke up in the morning. I looked out the window. The sun is shining. It's a good day. And the boy wanted to do something good himself.

So he sits and thinks: “What if my little sister was drowning, and I would save her!”

And my sister is right here:

Take a walk with me, Yura!

Go away, don't stop me from thinking! My little sister was offended and walked away.

And Yura thinks: “If only wolves attacked the nanny, and I would shoot them!”

And the nanny is right there:

Put away the dishes, Yurochka.

Clean it yourself - I have no time! The nanny shook her head.

And Yura thinks again: “If only Trezorka fell into the well, and I would pull him out!”

And Trezorka is right there. His tail wags: “Give me a drink, Yura!”

Go away! Don't bother thinking! Trezorka closed his mouth and climbed into the bushes.

And Yura went to his mother:

What good thing could I do? Mom stroked Yura’s head:

Take a walk with your sister, help the nanny put away the dishes, give Trezor some water.

sons

V.A. Oseeva

Two women were taking water from a well.

A third approached them. And the old man sat down on a pebble to rest.

Here's what one woman says to another:

My son is dexterous and strong, no one can handle him.

And the third is silent. “Why don’t you tell me about your son?” her neighbors ask.

What can I say? - says the woman. “There’s nothing special about him.”

So the women picked up full buckets and left. And the old man is behind them.

Women walk and stop. My hands hurt, the water splashes, my back hurts. Suddenly three boys run out towards us.

One of them somersaults over his head, walks like a cartwheel, and the women admire him.

He sings another song, sings like a nightingale - the women listen to him.

And the third ran up to his mother, took the heavy buckets from her and dragged them.

The women ask the old man:

Well? What are our sons like?

Where are they? - the old man answers. “I only see one son!”

blue leaves

V.A. Oseeva

Katya had two green pencils. And Lena has none. So Lena asks Katya:

Give me a green pencil.

And Katya says:

I'll ask my mom.

The next day both girls come to school.

Lena asks:

Did your mom allow it?

And Katya sighed and said:

Mom allowed it, but I didn’t ask my brother.

Well, ask your brother again,” says Lena.

Katya arrives the next day.

Well, did your brother allow it? - Lena asks.

My brother allowed me, but I'm afraid you'll break your pencil.

“I’m careful,” says Lena.

Look, says Katya, don’t fix it, don’t press hard, don’t put it in your mouth. Don't draw too much.

“I just need to draw leaves on the trees and green grass,” says Lena.

“That’s a lot,” says Katya, and her eyebrows frown. And she made a dissatisfied face. Lena looked at her and walked away. I didn't take a pencil. Katya was surprised and ran after her:

Well, what are you doing? Take it! “No need,” Lena answers.

During the lesson, the teacher asks: “Why, Lenochka, are the leaves on your trees blue?”

There is no green pencil.

Why didn't you take it from your girlfriend?

Lena is silent.

And Katya blushed like a lobster and said:

I gave it to her, but she doesn’t take it.

The teacher looked at both:

You have to give so that you can take.

On the rink

V.A. Oseeva

The day was sunny. The ice sparkled. There were few people at the skating rink.

The little girl, with her arms outstretched comically, rode from bench to bench.

Two schoolchildren were tying up their skates and looking at Vitya.

Vitya performed different tricks - sometimes he rode on one leg, sometimes he spun around like a top.

Well done! - one of the boys shouted to him.

Vitya rushed around the circle like an arrow, made a dashing turn and ran into the girl.

The girl fell.

Vitya was scared.

“I accidentally...” he said, brushing snow off her fur coat.

Did you hurt yourself?

The girl smiled:

Knee...

Laughter came from behind. “They’re laughing at me!” thought Vitya and turned away from the girl with annoyance.

What a surprise - a knee! What a crybaby!” he shouted, driving past the schoolchildren.

Come to us! - they called. Vitya approached them. Holding hands, all three merrily slid across the ice.

And the girl sat on the bench, rubbed her bruised knee and cried.