Поиск

132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Key

(The story)




When the letter from the commander-in-Chief of The Air And Land forces, General Thomas Yakkabaloon, and his Deputy, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfonso de Valdemar, reached the presidential office, the Press Secretary of the President, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, thought deeply, staring at the envelope, not knowing what to do.
Then came the terrible command of the guards:
- Attention, all members of the presidential staff! Close the door of their offices on the bolt and clear the corridor! Mr. President is coming!  -the guards shouted through a tin horn. The President's press Secretary stood at attention as if in a photograph. Finally, the President appeared in the corridor, surrounded by heavy security. After a while, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, came and stood for a moment at the entrance of his chic favorite spherical office. Before entering his office, he glanced briefly at the Press Secretary's Desk, where a pile of letters lay.
- Well, what news? What are they? Again from the citizens, or what? I am so tired of these stupid letters. Like I don't have anything else to do but read those stupid letters where they only write about their own problems. There is not among them at least one person who could write about the global economic problems, at least about those which concern problems of our state. Give me that big red envelope." Here I see something extraordinary. This letter is either from the leaders of other Countries, or from the diplomatic corps of the Commonwealth countries -said, as if guessing, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, taking and examining the envelope with interest. Then he smiled broadly at the address of the letter.
- Oh a letter from a mental hospital? - looking interested at the letter, and he started laughing, shaking his whole body. - Huwah-hah-hah-hah-haaaah! Iehh-hah-hah-hah-haaaaa! Ahahahahahahaaaa! See, the letter from the mental hospital?! no way... This is the first time I've received this kind of letter in my 45-year presidency, honestly! I wonder what they wrote about. It's supposed to be funny...  the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, said, wiping tears from his eyes with his huge checkered handkerchief.
Entering his spherical office, he opened the envelope and began to read the letter of the patients of the mental hospital with interest , the commander-in-Chief Of the Air And Land forces, General Thomas Yakkabaloon  and his Deputy Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar.
To the President of our beloved country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic.


Mr. President!


Although healthy people consider us fools, crazy, but we, patients of the Central mental hospital of the capital of our independent country, paradoxically, are the most intelligent, the most brilliant people on the planet. We have famous poets, thinkers, philosophers of all stripes, there are psychics, clairvoyants, soothsayers, great scientists, astronauts, valiant invincible generals, telepaths, reading other people's thoughts, who declared themselves prophets and even gods, nomads of time, masters of the universe, defenders of humanoids in solar systems and in the nebulae of the universe, great Opera singers with soprano voices, baritone, tenor. There are also disgraced leaders of opposition parties, human rights activists pyan yes ragged, that could not become your "colleagues". This raises the question: why can't our state use the free services of these capable, talented patients in solving the problems that have arisen in the political arena of the world? To solve questions our forces, patients of our mental hospital in area defense. We often hear that hundreds, sometimes thousands, of innocent, mentally healthy young soldiers of our country are dying in the hot spots of our planet. And what if we, psychopaths, paranoids and schizophrenics, were drafted into the army in the place of healthy children, in the spiritual sense of the word? First, we are strong, healthy, brave, courageous people. Second, we have nothing to fear and nothing to lose. Thirdly, we will not sit here idly on subsidies, as they say, on the neck of our poor independent state when our innocent young compatriots die in hot spots. We are not interested in money, position, awards, titles, orders and medals. We also do not need any apartments, no family and no other completely unnecessary things. We, that is valiant and brave mentally ill of our homeland, can protect our territories from any invaders, including aliens! And we think we'll have a lot more fun at the front than we have here in a boring treatment center, believe me, Mr. President. I never tire of repeating that we are very capable people and, once we are taught how to use firearms, how to operate an anti-Aircraft Missile System, bombers and fighters and how to hijack them, how to fly military helicopters such as "shark", "Apache", use nuclear submarines with cruise Intercontinental ballistic missiles and so on, then I assure You and guarantee that our brothers in healthy talented cadets. They will fly freely on modern supersonic aircraft bombers like hawks and bomb city points in hot spots of the planet, comparing with the earth beautiful cities, Orthodox and Catholic churches, mosques, synagogues, residential neighborhoods, factories , schools, hospitals, pharmacies, kindergartens exactly, without leaving there a single living soul. Be sure that the army of schizophrenics and paranoids, using anti-Aircraft Missile Systems, will shoot down thousands of civilian Airliners with hundreds of passengers on Board, getting missiles in the top ten, then in this monstrous crime to blame the air force and air defense of the enemy!
With great respect, Commander-in-chief, Air Force and Land Forces General Thomas Yakkabaloon.
Deputy General Thomas Yakkabaloon , Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ."
After reading the letter several times, up and down, the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic thought, looking bleary-eyed through the armored bulletproof window of his office, like a Hitler bunker.
- Yeaaaah, here is this letter! Unlike healthy people in the spiritual sense of the word, they did not write about their problems, on the contrary, they write about the urgent problems of our society and about strengthening the defense capacity of our long-suffering country. Although this letter is from a mental hospital, but it is still worth thinking about their initiatives. Moreover, they promise to protect the Fatherland for free. If we realize their dreams, then immediately decrease the financial costs for defense, for the army, for weapons, for provisions, for clothing and for canvas boots without soles millions and millions of pairs for our soldiers and officers. We are spending enormous amounts of money, which we annually allocate from the state budget.
And these schizophrenics of ours are ready to fight anywhere in the world, protecting the interests of our country, without military uniforms, barefoot.They don't have to pay a monthly salary. They promise to perform any task of the party, at any time of the day, even in the forty-five-degree frost in winter and fifty-five-degree heat in the desert. Oh all the money we can save with this idea! Why didn't we think about this project before? These living robots have nothing to lose. After all, they are kamikaze-suicide and are not afraid of death. And these our so-called soldiers and officers, at the first danger run away, or, lying in the trenches, shoot themselves in the leg and return home a hero, ringing clusters of orders and medals on their chest. To be honest, I have not received such an offer even from my military specialists, from experts who receive a huge monthly salary in dollars. Parasites! They're no good! I must confess that I used to laugh till I cried when I heard anecdotes about the insane. I guess I shouldn't have laughed then. On the contrary, it was necessary to cry and sob in a huge and leaky plaid handkerchief. That's how they reason! It is necessary, such ingenious people languish in mental hospitals of our immense country! And we ostensibly treating these brilliant people ! It seems to me that people who consider themselves healthy should go to psychiatrists and be treated properly before their mental illness worsens. Yes, these people with unstable mentality, people prone to violence is dangerous for society. But if you think about it wisely, I am one hundred percent sure that we can solve a lot of problems. We will put all the responsibility to their doctors, nurses and caregivers, calling them together with their patients in the army, and send them to the hot spots of the planet. Today in the world establish total control not only over the people and over the Media, over the opposition, but even over tsunamis, typhoons, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and so on. Are we worse than them? We, too, are able to establish control over patients, through their doctors in white coats, who have ultra-modern equipment, stun guns, sedative tranquilizers and durable straitjackets with long sleeves. Most importantly, we will automatically get rid of unnecessary pickets and rallies that are organized by human rights screamers, grant-eaters who protect the rights of the mothers of millions of dead soldiers who return home in sealed zinc coffins from the battlefield, where they heroically die defending the economic and geopolitical interests of our state. And death mentally ill on the field battlefield, not only causes pity, on the contrary, causes uncontrollable people laughing from souls, look at on tv or having heard about their ridiculous death in bloody battles. In short, this bill I must immediately submit to the Parliament of the country.Let our so-called illiterate MPs-parasites of both chambers and senators-sycophants, discuss and approve this strategic issue in closed sessions of Parliament without free journalists, unanimously in the first reading of the draft. It is clear that these so-called deputies and senators with slave psychology will never vote against what I offer them. I shouldn't worry too much about that, thought the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, lighting a gold pipe with diamond ornaments, stuffed with expensive flavored tobacco
The President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, before submitting the project to the Parliament, decided to first secretly meet with the authors of the secret letter and instructed his security forces to organize a secret negotiation with the authors of the unique project from the psychiatric hospital. Security forces accurately executed the order of the President, and brought two geniuses in a straitjacket barefoot and without a headdress and, having dressed them in suits of officials and in white shirts with starched collars and with tight ties on necks. They worked so well that even the aides of the President of the country, Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, seeing those two patients in civilian clothes, took them for high-ranking guests from abroad and hastily saluted, pausing like sticks. During the conversation, it turned out that these two are not only able to solve problems related to the strengthening of the country's defense, but also to create absolutely unthinkable fantastic things, to come up with unique, unheard-of ideas and hypotheses.
President Mr. Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic hugged them both and wept.
- Excuse me, gentlemen, and don't be surprised. These are tears of happiness in my eyes sparkle and tremble like distant stars in the December cold sky of our independent country, when our people drown their bourgeois stinking dung, barely recognizing each other through a veil of acrid smoke, coughing like frowning wipers in the thick fog of an autumn Park. I want to ask your forgiveness, gentlemen, for our psychiatrists, who incorrectly diagnosed, locked you up in psychiatric hospitals of our country, forcing you to drink disgusting liquids and pills. Care-givers beat you like punching bags suspended in sports underground training halls. I also apologize for our compatriots who laughed until they fell and still laugh at you, telling each other funny anecdotes about you. I saw with my own eyes today that you, the so-called patients with mental illness, are a thousand or even millions of times smarter than our deputies and bribe-taking officials! It turns out that we mistakenly locked you brilliant people in mental hospitals not only our country, but also the planet! I will issue a decree tomorrow to release all your brothers in sickness from the mental hospitals of our independent country, and to lock up the physicians, psychiators, and care-givers themselves in their stead. I will order that all my assistants - sycophants, poets and writers, officials and deputies-bribe takers and Ministers-parasites are immediately arrested. They do nothing, but receive large salaries in American dollars, and the citizens of our country because of total unemployment go to other countries, hoping to find at least some work there. They agree even on dirty work, sake of moreover, to find slice of bread and feed its family. They work as janitors and watchmen, work in garbage dumps, almost for free. That's all, I will carry out a reshuffle in all spheres of our society, that is, I will appoint you both as my main assistants, and I will also order that only those people who were previously treated in the mental hospitals of our long-suffering and vast state are appointed as deputies of the Parliament of both houses and senators of Congress. Governors of regions and districts, including chairmen of collective farms and committees, will also be appointed from brilliant people, that is, from your sick brothers. All governors and chairmen of the current system will now be treated for life and involuntarily in psychiatric hospitals until they fully recover. You can both accept the post of any Minister at once, and I congratulate you in advance, gentlemen! - said the President, concluding his speech.

General Thomas Yakkabaloon  and Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar, in return, they expressed their gratitude to the President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic for the warm welcome, mutual understanding and high trust. Before leaving, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar appealed to the President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic:
- I have a little surprise for you, Mr. President, close your eyes, - he said.
The President closed his eyes with a Hollywood smile on his lips.
- Now open your eyes, Mr. President! - Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar - said, smiling toothlessly.
President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic opened his eyes and saw the key that Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar handed him.
The President's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the key, and his eyes widened.
- Well, thank you, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ! What an honest man you are! Where did you find it? - It was in my pocket!..
With that, President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic quickly checked his pants pockets and blushed with shame when he found a hole in his pocket where a key might have fallen on the carpet.
- I found this key here, under this chair where I was sitting. Let me, I think, I will pick it up and give it to Mr. President of our country Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, maybe I think Mr. President accidentally lost the key to his modest one-room apartment, located on the outskirts of the capital of the country, where he lives with his large family plus with his hungry fat grouchy mother in law - explained Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar.
-Oh, no, no, Colonel Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar ! This key is not from a one-room apartment, and from the nuclear suitcase! You have no idea what heroism You have committed before my eyes in the face of our long-suffering people! You saved the nation! It is a good thing that this key did not fall into the hands of my crazy Ministers, whom I have long distrusted. After all, these corrupt parasites , could easily sell villains religion fanatic terrorists this priceless key for a wad of dollars! And there would have been a third world atomic war! Nope, in my opinion You saved not only the nation, but also saved humanity and the entire Universe from apparent destruction, from thermonuclear war! I award you the order of the Hero of the Fatherland of the first degree! You are now the national hero of our country! From now on, your military rank is not Colonel, but Marshal! Thank you on behalf of our long-suffering oppressed independent and hardworking people and on behalf of all mankind, Mr. Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar! - the President said enthusiastically.
- Serving the Fatherland!"  Pascal Salvatore Alfons de Valdemar shouted, saluting President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic. When the two high-ranking officers left the Palace of Mr. President Appalon Gabriel Toledo Puerto Carlos Dominic, General Thomas Yakkabaloon  congratulated his colleague and brother on his high military rank.
- I congratulate you, Marshal, On your high rank." "Oh, no!" - he said, turning blue and green with black envy.
- At ease, General, at ease!" Thank you for your congratulations, - said Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar, clapping General Thomas Yakkabaloon on the shoulder and head.
General Thomas Yakkabaloon continued:
- Excuse Me, Monsieur Le Marechal, but on the one hand, it is good to achieve such success. But on the other hand, I'm afraid we've missed a historic opportunity. By seizing the key to the nuclear briefcase, we could force the President to dissolve the Government and Parliament and resign as President. After all This, you would sleep well tonight, and Wake up in the morning the President of the country! Oh, what a chance missed, my God!  - said General Thomas Yakkabaloon .

- Yeah, don't you worry, General Lattapagon (Rag shoulder straps), I'm not such a fool as you think! When I went to the bathroom, I secretly and carefully removed the mold from the key of the nuclear suitcase, pressing it on this piece of soap. Now we can make a duplicate of the key of the nuclear suitcase from this cast. As they say, it is not yet evening. There is still time for me to become President of the country, and you - the Minister of Defense! The weight of the world is in our hands!  Marshal Pascal Salvatore Alphonse de Valdemar - said with a sly smile.


28/08/2014.
3:40 of the day.
Canada.the city of Brampton.



 

 

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

About the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling Leaves"



Review by an unknown reader about the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" in the electronic library"Ridley".



Dear readers, we sincerely hope that the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" will not look like any of the already read by you in this genre. Through images do not remain without attention, appearing in different places of the text they perfectly harmonize with the main line. It is clear that the issues raised here will not lose their relevance in time or space. Considerable attention is paid to the place of events, which gives the color and realism of what is happening. Fascinating, sometimes funny, very touching makes it possible to think about yourself, evoking memories from life. Portrait of the protagonist picked up very well, from the first lines imbued with sympathy for him, empathize with him, rejoice at his success, and upset failures. There is a certain feature, try to go beyond the basic idea and to introduce the uniqueness, thanks to which there is a desire to return to read. As you get closer to the outcome, it becomes more important great and beautiful, cleverly hidden than what it seemed at first glance. As you get closer to the apotheosis inadvertently freezes the spirit and later felt the desire to follow multiple reading. In addition to the fascinating, exciting and interesting narrative, the plot also retains the logic and sequence of events. At first glance, the combination of love and friendship seem mundane and bored, but later come to the conclusion that the evidence of the selected studies. The short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" read free online unusual, as the product is sometimes incredible, but at the same time, very interesting and exciting.



19.09.2016.



Thank you very much for the sincere review of my work.

Sincerely, Holder Volcano.



This short novel  has magic. If you start reading this book, you won't be able to stop.The story just drags you in like quicksand in the desert and swallows. Read and enjoy.



Copying, distribution, and commercial use the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" without the written consent of the copyright holder is prohibited.



Sincerely, Holder Volcano.



Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

"Falling Leaves"


(The short novel)



(Translated by author)




Chapter 1

Spring fields



Spring, birds singing in the high poplars at field mill, where the white acacia. Recently, among the thorny branches of acacia could see a nest of magpies, and now it disappeared from sight among the leaves and flowering bunches of the tree. Magpies are very smart birds. They know that boys can't climb a tree, whose thorny branches, as its sharp spiny thorns may hurt to scratch his hands and feet and even to rip their harem pants. Acacia flowers have captured the soul like Souvenirs made from pieces of white porcelain. The pleasant smell of these bunches winds spread across the field where farmers work. Khurshida worked, knocking hoe on the rocky field. It was a girl of eighteen, fair-skinned, with a dense and gentle curly dark brown hair, with a slender figure and magnificent Breasts, with hazel eyes, and clear eyes. She is so beautiful smiling coral lips, showing white healthy and beautiful teeth, that a lot of guys in the village were crazy about her. But Khurshida did not pay attention to either one of them, as she felt for him the tender feelings called love. His indifference she has increased "oppression" on the lovers. She didn't even answer your love letters that boys wrote and passed her through her friends.


Khurshida"s father Abduljabbar very strict towards his daughter Khurshida and his difficult character and behavior more like a stepfather than her own father. He often drinks alcohol and satisfied with drunken fights. But Abduljabbar is a good specialist in the field of sheep shearing. He works as a mechanic on a cattle farm. Repairs on the farm milking machines, automatic drinking bowls, conveyors, cleaning barns, combines, forage shredders and so on.

Although Abduljabbar is not a religious fanatic, but he strictly prohibits Khurshida to go to parties dedicated to the birthday of her classmates, which was attended by boys. Abduljabbar swore that if his daughter Khurshida will disgrace their family, he will curse. So mother of Khurshida Raheela every day insisted that she did not play with fire and was cautious in communication with her classmates and other unknown guys, Raheela knew that the class of her daughter not all girls were friendly with Khurshida. That is, some girls are jealous of Khurshida and look at her with despise, because she's pretty and many guys were in love her but not with them.


With these thoughts in mind, Khurshida continued to work on the field, leveling soil for planting cotton. She loves to work in the fields alone, as nobody bothers to think about what she wants to think. Loneliness for her freedom was like the boundless sky. Sometimes Khurshida stops to straighten her back, listening to the distant of a sad voice of an alone hoopoe which comes from Willow Grove, where the wind wanders drunk. There, in the distance, a willow grove, a cotton field, she saw an alone tractor that silently glided over the field like a ship on the surface of a green sea of cotton. Khurshida thoughtfully watched agile low flying swallows. They flew over the fields, almost touching the ground, and its white belly and wings similar to bent black daggers with sharp blades. Then again she set to work, humming a sad song about love. And the sun slowly but surely rose to the tip of the sky. Khurshida worked on the field under the scorching sun and stopped work only when on the hill, the cook Tubo shouting the beginning to entice people for lunch.


-Choygaaaaaaaaa!- she cried, and her voice flew over the spring fields, like a bird freed from its chest.


Leaving the hoe on the edge of the field, Khurshida went to the side of the field mill. Approaching her, she smelled a delicate sweet smell fragrant acacia which bloomed near the field camp, which grew tall poplars and weeping willows. At this point, of the cultivator, which stopped near a field camp, jumped a young tractor driver of about twenty to twenty five, in a worn skullcap, tall, broad-shouldered, snub-nosed, with curly hair, with a mustache above fleshy lips, a peculiarity of the guy with a green scar on his left eyebrow. It gave him the appearance of harshness and masculinity. His appearance resembled a Roman Gladiator who fought with his bare hands with hungry tigers. Khurshida had not seen this tractor driver in these parts, but I just remembered his tractor, which she just watched from afar in the cotton field. While Khurshida was removed from the branches of the mulberry tree a small pouch in which was bread, sugar, welding, aluminum spoon, and a mug with a bowl, the tractor driver was already standing in the queue at the field tin samovar, where workers were poured theirself a Cup of boiling water. Taking her mug, Khurshida poured her the tea and also got in line. Seeing her, the guy turned to look and gave up his place. Not expecting such a gentleman, Khurshida thanked the young tractor driver and kindly smiled. After a few minutes the guy started to talk to her:

- Girl, let me tell you an amazing story while we stand in line. In short, yesterday I go past this tree - beauty!- from the white acacia flowers that you can’t stop looking at. The acacia blooming was like a young bride in a white wedding dress! I stopped involuntarily admiring the unusual beauty of this tree, looking at it with delight, like a farmer who came from a distant village with a bag on his shoulders, who first saw the city. Then there was gunfire. I thought, there was a terrorist shooting at me from the machine gun. I quickly lay down on the ground, so he couldn’t fire the whole clip at me. I layer down for a while and I look, and there's a singing magpie. Well, I felt ashamed about myself. Stood up, looked around, found my dirty skullcap, shook off the dust, jammed it on my head and went on. It’s a good thing nobody but me saw it.


After hearing the story of the tractor driver, everybody having lunch amicably laughed. Khurshida too, then came their turn. But, unfortunately, boiling water ceased to flow from the samovar's tap. It turned out that the cause was the fact that in the samovar boiling water level dropped below the level of the faucet, so it stopped showering. But the tractor driver found a way out: he asked Khurshida to bend the samovar and pour the boiling water into a mug, which he set up.


- Okay - agreed Khurshida and when the young tractor driver framed his mug to the tap of the samovar, Khurshida gently bent the samovar. But then disaster struck: Khurshida accidentally dropped the samovar, and he fell over, the young tractor driver scalded with boiling water. Tractor driver, making a face from a severe burn, started to jump from the pain, leaning on one leg, pulling air into the lungs.


- Vsss -ah-aaah! Vsss-ahh-ahhhh! Ooooohhhh!- he jumped from the stinging pain and spun like a dog chasing its tail.


Khurshida started to cry, not knowing what to do and how to calm the poor tractor driver. And workers who had already begun eating, all got up from their seats, feeling for the tractor driver who accidentally scalded with boiling water. Some laughed, especially when the timekeeper Abdelkasim cried, you take off your pants and jump right into the pond!


- Oh, excuse me, for God's sake, mister! This is all my fault!.. Badly burned?! Poor!.. I don't know Your name... what your name? - Said Khurshida, crying and circling around the guy in confusion.


A young tractor driver, holding his scalded thigh, stopped for a moment and with a grimace on his face said:


- Me? A-aaaaah- ahhhh... my name is Sultan!


- Oh, Mister Sultan, sorry! I didn't want to... - said Khurshida with tears in her eyes.


-Don't worry, girl, about anything... Aa-a-ahhh-ahhh... Ahh-ahh-ahh....My leg will get better before the wedding - said tractor driver Sultan, smiling through the grimace on his face, continuing to jump on one leg.

Then he asked, distorting the face of unbearable pain:

-And You? What's your name?


- Me? Oh yeah, my name is Khurshida.


-Very nice... Vsss-aaaaa-aah... Yyyyh! That's a beautiful name, like you, honestly. You, Khurshida, do not pay attention to me. Better get yourself something to eat. Its lunch time right now... - said Sultan, continuing to rely on one leg to alleviate the pain.


- No, I will not eat. Well, how am I supposed to eat when you suffer because of me? - cried Khurshida.


Here the tractor driver Sultan stopped limping and said.


- Well, Khurshida, now quit crying! After all, people are looking at us. Already released the pain, don't you worry. I have everything in order. Don’t you believe my words? Well, then I have no choice but to prove to you that I'm healthy as an ox.

Here look and, humming a tune, he began to dance, stamping their tarpaulin boots, as a dancer with great experience.


Sultan danced, whirling like a whirlwind and singing cheerful music. Seeing this, everyone around laughed as if the viewers who are watching a funny presentation of a wandering artist. Khurshida was also smiling through her tears, rejoicing that the Sultan let go of the pain.

 

 

 

 

 

Подробнее...

 

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

 

Review by an unknown reader about the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" in the electronic library"Ridley".


Dear readers, we sincerely hope that the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" will not look like any of the already read by you in this genre. Through images do not remain without attention, appearing in different places of the text they perfectly harmonize with the main line. It is clear that the issues raised here will not lose their relevance in time or space. Considerable attention is paid to the place of events, which gives the color and realism of what is happening. Fascinating, sometimes funny, very touching makes it possible to think about yourself, evoking memories from life. Portrait of the protagonist picked up very well, from the first lines imbued with sympathy for him, empathize with him, rejoice at his success, and upset failures. There is a certain feature, try to go beyond the basic idea and to introduce the uniqueness, thanks to which there is a desire to return to read. As you get closer to the outcome, it becomes more important great and beautiful, cleverly hidden than what it seemed at first glance. As you get closer to the apotheosis inadvertently freezes the spirit and later felt the desire to follow multiple reading. In addition to the fascinating, exciting and interesting narrative, the plot also retains the logic and sequence of events. At first glance, the combination of love and friendship seem mundane and bored, but later come to the conclusion that the evidence of the selected studies. The short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" read free online unusual, as the product is sometimes incredible, but at the same time, very interesting and exciting.

19.09.2016.

Thank you very much for the sincere review of my work.

Sincerely, Holder Volcano.

The second review of an unknown reader about the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" in the electronic library "Ridley".


Dear readers, there are interesting books, and there are very interesting books. To what category include the short novel "falling leaves" Holder Volcano you decide! Unwittingly living out the book - then disappear completely in it, then resume, finding Parallels and a private Foundation, and suddenly grow a soul. From the first lines visual images draw attention to themselves, they are in many ways distinct, colorful. The finale is a little tightened, but it compensates a totally unpredictable ending. Thanks to the dynamic and fascinating story, the book keeps the reader in suspense from beginning to end. Harmonious mutual admiration of conflict episodes with the external surrounding reality, once again confirm the talent and skill of the literary genius. Thanks to the mind, charisma, wit and nobility, you instantly feel sympathy for the main character and his companion. Soft irony along with comic situations are so harmoniously woven into the plot that they become an inseparable part of it. This short novel is a kind of mystery posed to the reader, and the usual logic is not to solve it, until the very last page. The Creator is in no hurry to prematurely reveal the idea works, but through the actions with the help of the hints in the dialogues gradually brings to his readers. The themes of love and hate, good and evil, friendship and enmity, no matter what time they are touched upon, always remain relevant and urgent.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Thank you very much for the sincere review of my work.
Sincerely, Holder Volcano.

This short novel  has magic. If you start reading this book, you won't be able to stop.The story just drags you in like quicksand in the desert and swallows. Read and enjoy.


Copying, distribution, and commercial use the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves" without the written consent of the copyright holder is prohibited.


Sincerely, Holder Volcano.

"Falling leaves"

(The short novel)

(Translated by author)



Chapter 1

Spring fields

 



Spring, birds singing in the high poplars at field mill, where the white acacia. Recently, among the thorny branches of acacia could see a nest of magpies, and now it disappeared from sight among the leaves and flowering bunches of the tree. Magpies are very smart birds. They know that boys can't climb a tree, whose thorny branches, as its sharp spiny thorns may hurt to scratch his hands and feet and even to rip their harem pants. Acacia flowers have captured the soul like Souvenirs made from pieces of white porcelain. The pleasant smell of these bunches winds spread across the field where farmers work. Khurshida worked, knocking hoe on the rocky field. It was a girl of eighteen, fair-skinned, with a dense and gentle curly dark brown hair, with a slender figure and magnificent Breasts, with hazel eyes, and clear eyes. She is so beautiful smiling coral lips, showing white healthy and beautiful teeth, that a lot of guys in the village were crazy about her. But Khurshida did not pay attention to either one of them, as she felt for him the tender feelings called love. His indifference she has increased "oppression" on the lovers. She didn't even answer your love letters that boys wrote and passed her through her friends.

Khurshida"s father Abduljabbar very strict towards his daughter Khurshida and his difficult character and behavior more like a stepfather than her own father. He often drinks alcohol and satisfied with drunken fights. But Abduljabbar is a good specialist in the field of sheep shearing. He works as a mechanic on a cattle farm. Repairs on the farm milking machines, automatic drinking bowls, conveyors, cleaning barns, combines, forage shredders and so on.
Although Abduljabbar is not a religious fanatic, but he strictly prohibits Khurshida to go to parties dedicated to the birthday of her classmates, which was attended by boys. Abduljabbar swore that if his daughter Khurshida will disgrace their family, he will curse. So mother of Khurshida Raheela every day insisted that she did not play with fire and was cautious in communication with her classmates and other unknown guys, Raheela knew that the class of her daughter not all girls were friendly with Khurshida. That is, some girls are jealous of Khurshida and look at her with despise, because she's pretty and many guys were in love her but not with them.

With these thoughts in mind, Khurshida continued to work on the field, leveling soil for planting cotton. She loves to work in the fields alone, as nobody bothers to think about what she wants to think. Loneliness for her freedom was like the boundless sky. Sometimes Khurshida stops to straighten her back, listening to the distant of a sad voice of an alone hoopoe which comes from Willow Grove, where the wind wanders drunk. From far away came the muffled rumble of a lone tractor. Khurshida thoughtfully watched agile low flying swallows. They flew over the fields, almost touching the ground, and its white belly and wings similar to bent black daggers with sharp blades. Then again she set to work, humming a sad song about love. And the sun slowly but surely rose to the tip of the sky. Khurshida worked on the field under the scorching sun and stopped work only when on the hill, the cook Tubo shouting the beginning to entice people for lunch.

-Choygaaaaaaaaa!- she cried, and her voice flew over the spring fields, like a bird freed from its chest.

Leaving the hoe on the edge of the field, Khurshida went to the side of the field mill. Approaching her, she smelled a delicate sweet smell fragrant acacia which bloomed near the field camp, which grew tall poplars and weeping willows. At this point, of the cultivator, which stopped near a field camp, jumped a young tractor driver of about twenty to twenty five, in a worn skullcap, tall, broad-shouldered, snub-nosed, with curly hair, with a mustache above fleshy lips, a peculiarity of the guy with a green scar on his left eyebrow. It gave him the appearance of harshness and masculinity. His appearance resembled a Roman Gladiator who fought with his bare hands with hungry tigers. Khurshida had not seen this tractor driver in these parts, but I just remembered his tractor, which she just watched from afar in the cotton field. While Khurshida was removed from the branches of the mulberry tree a small pouch in which was bread, sugar, welding, aluminum spoon, and a mug with a bowl, the tractor driver was already standing in the queue at the field tin samovar, where workers were poured theirself a Cup of boiling water. Taking her mug, Khurshida poured her the tea and also got in line. Seeing her, the guy turned to look and gave up his place. Not expecting such a gentleman, Khurshida thanked the young tractor driver and kindly smiled. After a few minutes the guy started to talk to her:
- Girl, let me tell you an amazing story while we stand in line. In short, yesterday I go past this tree - beauty!- from the white acacia flowers that you can’t stop looking at. The acacia blooming was like a young bride in a white wedding dress! I stopped involuntarily admiring the unusual beauty of this tree, looking at it with delight, like a farmer who came from a distant village with a bag on his shoulders, who first saw the city. Then there was gunfire. I thought, there was a terrorist shooting at me from the machine gun. I quickly lay down on the ground, so he couldn’t fire the whole clip at me. I layer down for a while and I look, and there's a singing magpie. Well, I felt ashamed about myself. Stood up, looked around, found my dirty skullcap, shook off the dust, jammed it on my head and went on. It’s a good thing nobody but me saw it.

After hearing the story of the tractor driver, everybody having lunch amicably laughed. Khurshida too, then came their turn. But, unfortunately, boiling water ceased to flow from the samovar's tap. It turned out that the cause was the fact that in the samovar boiling water level dropped below the level of the faucet, so it stopped showering. But the tractor driver found a way out: he asked Khurshida to bend the samovar and pour the boiling water into a mug, which he set up.

- Okay - agreed Khurshida and when the young tractor driver framed his mug to the tap of the samovar, Khurshida gently bent the samovar. But then disaster struck: Khurshida accidentally dropped the samovar, and he fell over, the young tractor driver scalded with boiling water. Tractor driver, making a face from a severe burn, started to jump from the pain, leaning on one leg, pulling air into the lungs.

- Vsss -ah-aaah! Vsss-ahh-ahhhh! Ooooohhhh!- he jumped from the stinging pain and spun like a dog chasing its tail.

Khurshida started to cry, not knowing what to do and how to calm the poor tractor driver. And workers who had already begun eating, all got up from their seats, feeling for the tractor driver who accidentally scalded with boiling water. Some laughed, especially when the timekeeper Abdelkasim cried, you take off your pants and jump right into the pond!

- Oh, excuse me, for God's sake, mister! This is all my fault!.. Badly burned?! Poor!.. I don't know Your name... what your name? - Said Khurshida, crying and circling around the guy in confusion.

A young tractor driver, holding his scalded thigh, stopped for a moment and with a grimace on his face said:

- Me? A-aaaaah- ahhhh... my name is Sultan!

- Oh, Mister Sultan, sorry! I didn't want to... - said Khurshida with tears in her eyes.

-Don't worry, girl, about anything... Aa-a-ahhh-ahhh... Ahh-ahh-ahh....My leg will get better before the wedding said tractor driver Sultan, smiling through the grimace on his face, continuing to jump on one leg.
Then he asked, distorting the face of unbearable pain:
-And You? What's your name?

- Me? Oh yeah, my name is Khurshida.

-Very nice... Vsss-aaaaa-aah... Yyyyh! That's a beautiful name, like you, honestly. You, Khurshida, do not pay attention to me. Better get yourself something to eat. Its lunch time right now... - said Sultan, continuing to rely on one leg to alleviate the pain.

- No, I will not eat. Well, how am I supposed to eat when you suffer because of me? - cried Khurshida.

Here the tractor driver Sultan stopped limping and said.

- Well, Khurshida, now quit crying! After all, people are looking at us. Already released the pain, don't you worry. I have everything in order. Don’t you believe my words? Well, then I have no choice but to prove to you that I'm healthy as an ox.
Here look and, humming a tune, he began to dance, stamping their tarpaulin boots, as a dancer with great experience.

Sultan danced, whirling like a whirlwind and singing cheerful music. Seeing this, everyone around laughed as if the viewers who are watching a funny presentation of a wandering artist. Khurshida was also smiling through her tears, rejoicing that the Sultan let go of the pain.


 

Подробнее...

 

132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 22 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"


Quiet leaf fall




The great chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch released the Abduljabbar from the post of mechanic of cattle farm for a drunken brawl at the estate of his grandson, the little Turabitdun. And Abduljabbar, took home his daughter together with his grandson Turabitdun and strictly forbade Khurshida to meet Pathella.
- Well, nothing. Here I will gather my things and leave in Texas dreaming Abduljabbar. I will change my name to Douglas Steveenson. There I with their American counterparts in the rough jeans, pulled on the head a cowboy hat, I will work on a cattle farm. Going to ride a wild horse "Mustang" on the boundless steppes of the Prairie, rotating head over to lasso like a helicopter propeller "Apache." With the lasso will catch the horses and bulls in the cactus thickets. I will participate in the competition among the Texas cowboy’s sheep shearing, and become winners. Then, having received a cash prize of five thousand dollars, I will go to a nearby pub, where whiskey flows by the river, and drink all this money to the last cent. Treat my colleagues and friends, and we will be going to have fun, sipping Scotch on the rocks and listening to fun cowboy songs. On the Buster, naturally a fight breaks out in which to stand in the side are not supposed to. According to the old tradition, I will also hit my head in the stomach and break the nose of one cowboy - Abduljabbar continued to fantasize. He did not remain in debt, have hit back, giving me in the face with his dirty fist. The other cowboys around us are going to have a massive fight, too... Tables will be overturned, bottles and glasses shattered. Someone will hit me with a bottle on the head, and it will break into pieces, but I will not fall, will not lose consciousness. On the contrary, will grab that cowboy out of them over the head like a propeller of a helicopter "Apache" and throw him out the window. Cowboy takes off into the street, screaming wildly. After that, the most important thing will begin - a firefight with revolvers. Dt-tish! Dt-tish! When local Sheriff Michael Jordan comes running with his rifle in his hand, I jump out and run, tumbling, so as not to clap a stray bullet. And there will wait for me, my anxious horse. It will be nervously snore, threw its head back, staring eyes of fear and tight and pulling on the bridle tied to the wall. I will quickly cut the bridle with a dagger and a cat jump will sit on a wild horse "Mustang". After vortex will jump in the direction of the sand dunes, where there are cacti and hysterically singing quicksand. Bullets with whistle will fly past my ears and over my head, and I will disappear from species for dunes - completed his fantasizing Abduljabbar.
Then he asked forgiveness of his wife and daughter because he gave his daughter to marry the nephew of the great chairman comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch. Listening to him, Raheela and Khurshida cried.
So, Khurshida came to live with her parents and commute to her old job, leaving little Turabitdun at home with her mom.
Autumn reigned in the city recreation Park.With maples and poplars softly falling red and yellow leaves.They lay on the lanes is so beautiful that the attack on them was pathetic.In some places fires were burning, similar to fuming volcanoes where a tourniquet fallen leaves.
Khurshida worked sweeping the area and as always thinking of the tractor driver Sultan. On wobbly benches sat a happy young couple, enjoying a quiet maple leaf. On the empty benches lay the fallen leaves of the thinning trees.
Khurshida stopped, seeing the group of women farmers, which the crowd walked through the Park like the tourists are foreigners. Since Khurshida was also from the village, the women caught her eye. It wanted to communicate with them. Ask who they are, where they came from and so on. It's interesting.
When she cautiously approached and greeted them, asking where they came from, one of the women said that Khurshida almost fainted. Turns out they came from the "Charvak" mountains, from the village of "Tuyamuyun", that is, from the mountain village of his beloved Sultan.
- Daughter, what's wrong with you, why are you pale? Are you sick? - surprised the interview Khurshida.
- Yes there is no, I have it all in order - answered Khurshida, and gently asked her if she knows of one man, named Sultan, tall, with curly hair, snub-nosed, with a mustache above fleshy lips and a green scar on the left eyebrow.
- We know him. He's our fellow villager. Sultan went to Tashkent to enter Tashkent state University. But we heard him the first attempt failed to go to this university, and he worked in the valley, the farm "Tillaquduq" simple tractor to preparing for exams in solitude and again try to enroll in Tashkent state University. Then we heard that he entered Tashkent state University and graduated with honors. After graduating from the University, he came back to our "Tuyamuyun". But for some reason didn't want to teach in high school and became a businessman. He opened a trading manufacturing company and built a rest house at the foot of the "Charvak" mountains on the basis of this company. Rich guy, lived in his two - storey cottage-told another woman.
-Yeah? He lives with his family, so he's married? - asked Khurshida. From the excitement of her dry throat.
- No, Sultan not married - said the first companion Khurshida.
- Why didn't he get married? - Khurshida asked and then blushed at her own stupid question.
- He loved a beautiful girl named Khurshida, when he worked as a tractor driver on the farm "Tillaquduq". How much his mother begged him to get married, but Sultan never started a family, led a lonely life. The poor man died. And what he is, excuse me, have you? Friend, I guess. It is clear that we studied together, so in this, in Tashkent state University. Uh-oh, ruthless life! - said second companion. From this terrible news from Khurshida pale lips.
- That?! What are you saying, aunt?! - Shouted Khurshida, staring their eyes out in horror.
- Why? I told the truth. He died in the spring of loneliness, sadly looking through the window of his two-story cottage on the blooming white acacia, which he planted. I know better than anyone, since he lived next door to us. Man was modest, polite and always all helped, than could. When he died, all the people of our village, from small to large, cried as if the people's rain had died. Five thousand people came to his funeral, you know? And coffin of Sultan people suffered at the cemetery on their shoulders, passing from shoulder to shoulder without any traffic. Everyone says he died of an incurable disease called love. By the way, the holiday House he had built, he named his lover. Yes, at the entrance of the rest house he installed a huge neon sign, where the volume of neon letters written the name of his beloved girl "Khurshida". The name of the night is. Every night when we see this glowing sign, we sadly sigh, remembering the poor Sultan said first companion Khurshida. After that, ginseng went to the side, where a huge carousel rotated with a creek.
Khurshida from impotence sat down on a wooden bench, as a suicide, sentenced to death in court. She sat as if the mad, pale face the face of. Then, clasping her head with both hands, she wept aloud.
In autumn Park there was a quiet leaf fall.


End.



07/09/2014.
8: 27 PM.
The city of Brampton.
Canada.


eb23ebae4e2f0a5747a3836a73a792433eb756231883193 (700x510, 39Kb)

 

 

132221451_gorod_Brempton (202x216, 31Kb)

Holder Volcano

Member of the Uzbek Union of Writers

 

Chapter 21 of the short novel of Holder Volcano "Falling leaves"


The fight in the birthday of Turabitdun





Khurshida's son turned one year old. She wanted to name her baby the tractor driver Sultan, but her husband Pathella and mother-in-law, Khurshida suggested to name the baby Turabitdun in honor of her grandfather, who showed the presentation at weddings, running freely on the high rope with a pole in his hands and directly into the rope cut the sheep. Recently the whole family celebrated the birthday of Turabitdun for a rich banquet. The birthday was attended by parents of Khurshida who sat in the place of honor at the table. Abduljabbar was always tipsy and sat holding his grandson in his hands, kissed him on the cheeks, rejoiced.
- I can see clearly that my grandson Turabitdun will be a great person! he said proudly.
- Oh, yeah, you’re right - confirmed the words of his test Pathella, lighting candles, inserted into the beautiful cake.
- Come on son; show me what you can do. Let's get you out here, the booze you probably hid in the Saratov fridge. What speech generally can go about a party with no alcohol?! Let us drink to the health of my grandson Turabitdun and for the health of my idol the Great Chairman, comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch! - said Abduljabbar, raising his grandson high and looking him in the eye. Hearing this, Pathella looked at Khurshida say, what to do? Khurshida called her husband into the kitchen and said in a whisper:
- Pathella, father already sitting drunk. If you pour more on him, that's all. He's going to start getting bigger. Tell him you're not a drinker, and we don't have vodka in the fridge.
- You, that honey, I so not can. How can I fool my father-in-law? He is for me like a father. What's he going to think of me after that?! I don't want our father to think of me as a greedy person. What if he gets out of his seat and leaves?! Or, say, go to a nearby pub, drink vodka out of a bottle, empty it all standing, and come back to us? Isn't it better to have a drink with him one hundred and to remove the vodka from the table to hide it. Another option we have, love - said Pathella also in a whisper.
- Well, as you know. Be extremely careful. And then the father of such a nature that it will not find - said Khurshida.
- Don't worry darling, everything will be okay - said Pathella, kissing his wife. Then he took out vodka from fridge door and headed to table, for which sat his mother -in -law and with his father-in-law.
Seeing a bottle of vodka in the hands of Pathella, Abduljabbar predatory happy,
- That's ours! - He said, rubbing his hands together like a fly that rubs paws.
- Yes, father -said Pathella, also smiling.
Uncorking the bottle, he carefully began to pour into bowls. Watching his movements, Abduljabbar could not resist.
- Well, You, my son-in-law, what you as the pharmacist who weighs snake venom? Hands You are shaking like a cheque, who suffers from Parkinson's disease. Pour the bowls full! Today we have a round date, a family holiday! We celebrate the birthday of my first grandson! Let's drink and be merry, while our ships will not sink in a sea of vodka! - He said.
- Well, father - obeyed Pathella and filled with subtle and sonorous Tashkent cups vodka. After that, they drank for the health of the birthday boy, choking with bowls, and tasted salty cucumber.
Pathella wanted was to quietly remove the vodka from the table and hide, but he did not.
- Where do you take the vodka, my dear son-in-law?! It is not good to complete the penalty not sacrifice, comrade executioner - said Abduljabbar, deliciously munching a slice of salted cucumber and wiping his lips with a towel. Then he offered to drink the health of his idol, the Great Chairman of the collective farm comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch. When they emptied a bottle of vodka, Abduljabbar became embittered. Barely looking at his grandson Turabitdun, he began to speak.
- Turabitdun, you are my first grandchild, and when you grow up, you will become a mechanic, of the animal on our farm "Tillaquduq" and be involved in shearing sheep on flocks as I do! - he said.
- No, father, you're wrong. Our Turabitdun when you grow up, you will become a singer. I will create all conditions for him, buy him a piano only Turabitdun became a great singer. I'm ready to die, after Turabitdun coming on stage of the Palace "Khalklar dostligi" in the center of Tashkent and sing a song of a poor soldier, who lost both eyes in the war and lying in the hospital, sang the sad song of his wounded countryman who was discharged from the hospital. The blind soldier sang about so:
- Oh, brother, if you get to the homeland alive and well, the first thing to say Hello to my father!
Also say Hello to my poor mother, who, stumbling, runs out to meet you, to hear good news about me.

Pathella sang a sad song about a blinded warrior, knocking to the beat on the table. Abduljabbar got angry.
- No! I don't want him to become a singer! Turabitdun will be the only mechanic of the animal on our farm "Tillaquduq" and will shear the sheep in the pasture with the help of machines with elastic shaft! I'm ready to die, not sparing anything directly in the collective farm club, when my grandson Turabitdun will receive an honorary diploma from the hands of my idol, the great Chairman of the XXI century comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch, demonstrating their art in the shearing of sheep and goats! -Abduljabbar shouted.
- No! Turabitdun my son, and he will become the person that I dream of! He will be a humorist, will make people laugh at weddings, and will make a lot of money, he will build a cottage at the foot of the "Khumsan" mountains: there will be picnics, fishing, hunting saiga and tapirs in the steppes and all that! If he disobeys me and becomes a mechanic in a livestock farm, I'll take a hunting rifle and shoot myself! - replied the father-in-law Pathella.
- You, son-in-law, don't play with fire! And then I have a very bad temper! Don't cross me! If I said that Turabitdun you'll be a mechanic of the farm animals, then so be it. Oh, you decided to shoot! Yes bullets pity on you! No offense, but people like you need to kill with a shovel to save a bullet! Long ago I would have strangled you with my own hands, but you remain alive only because of my respect to your uncle, the great chairman, comrade Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch! So, think before you say anything, make a statement or, say, petition - Abduljabbar said.
- No! My decision is firm and not negotiable. My son will only do Show business! - shouted Pathella.
- Oh, is that so?! Well, now you blame yourself, you're in the rectum! - said angry and drunk Abduljabbar. With these words he lashed out on his son-in-law and began to strangle him with all his might. But Pathella managed to free his neck from the sharp as pincers of a crab at the hands of Abduljabbar. He not only defended himself, but went on the offensive, throwing punches and kicks to the vital organs of his father. Women and small birthday Turabitdun began to cry and scream. Khurshida also cried and begged them to stop the fight. She tried to separate the fighting men, but they fought like fighting dogs.
- Who's the rectum, huh? Who is the horse?! And let me repeat, a goat smelly again, something I can't hear! You allow yourself; the cattle are dirty, which goes to the farm, sinking knee-deep in the dermis! I'm respected, accepted, treated, and you, instead of saying thanks, wipe your ass with the tablecloth, insult, shake your right! Who are you to dictate to me?! Or have you forgotten who I am?! I'm the nephew of the Chairman of the Collective farm"Tillquduq" Mr. Kokyutalov abu Salasarimsak ibn Guslvozhib Tezaktelbakezavuch! Enough of my bit, and you immediately be fired and go to jail for years! - said Abduljabbar, continuing stubbornly and desperately fighting.
- Are you a man or a snitch, not shorn sheep "Gissar" you with a huge rump! Well, go tell your uncle and have him kick me out of the job if he really needs to lose a talented professional like me! - said Abduljabbar, and with a distorted face with anger and contempt, hit with a fist Pathella. From a strong blow of Pathella flew and fell on the table. The table broke into two parts. And the cake flew into the air and turned over on the fly, hit right in the face of Abduljabbar. While Abduljabbar was wiping the cake cream from his face to open his eyes, Pathella managed to get up, grab a piece of the board of the collapsed table and hit hard on the head of his father-in-law. Abduljabbar crashed to the floor, unconscious.

 

eb23ebae4e2f0a5747a3836a73a792433eb756231883193 (700x510, 39Kb)

 

 
Еще статьи...