And Lindgren is a dragon with red eyes. Extracurricular reading lesson on the works of Astrid Lindgren I want to write for such readers

UNDER THE CHERRY

Translation by N. Belyakova

On a summer evening, Ann sits under a cherry tree and watches the flying swallows. The cherry tree is strewn with snow-white flowers. Oh, how beautiful she is! She should stand in the sky so that little angels could swing on her branches. Maybe she used to stand in heaven, and then God brought her to earth so that Ann could sit under her on summer evenings. Who knows! Maybe this wonderful tree is magical and can make all wishes come true? But no one knows this. Ann decides to try it right away. But it’s not good to wish for a lot at once, because no one has asked this tree for anything for a long time, it has lost the habit of fulfilling wishes. You can’t just go and wish for... well, for example, a little pony. This can be desired later, when it gets used to doing everything you ask. Ann doesn't want to be greedy and decides to ask for something easier.
“I want someone to be walking along the road now, with whom I could chat,” she says loudly, looking at the white cherry blossoms. Ann is waiting. And it’s necessary! Just five minutes later, my aunt appears on the road. Ann doesn't know her. She probably lives nearby in a boarding house.
Aunt stops and looks at Ann. Oh, what a beauty: a pretty little girl, with dreamy blue eyes, sitting under a fabulously beautiful cherry blossom tree.
Ann smiles invitingly at her.
“Good evening, my friend,” says the aunt, “are you sitting here all alone?”
“Yes,” answers Ann, “do you want to sit with me?”
Ann knows not to say "you" to adults. But if you can’t say “you” to them, then how can you talk to them? It’s somehow awkward not to say a word to adults. And therefore Ann, without hesitation, says:
- Do you want to sit with me?
Well, of course, Auntie wants to babysit Ann. She happily sits down on the green bench next to Ann, strokes her blond head and asks:
-You look so small and lonely.
“Yes,” she says, sighing, “I’m lonely.”
-Where is your mother? - asks the aunt.
- My mom died.
There is silence.
“Poor child,” the aunt finally says. Ann points to a large white house at the bottom of the garden.
- Mom lived there when she was alive.
“That’s how it is,” says the aunt sympathetically.
“But she wasn’t born there,” Ann continues.
- So, where was she born?
- No one knows. My mother is a foundling. In this white house lived a gentleman and a lady. Those were my grandparents, you know? And then one morning they went out into the garden and found mother just under this cherry tree.
It seems that the aunt does not really believe this.
“Yes, yes, it’s true,” Ann assures her briskly. - Mom was sleeping under a tree, wrapped in a dirty blanket. My grandparents didn't have children and they were glad they found my mother.
“Yes, and that’s not what happens,” thinks the unfamiliar aunt.
- And did they find out who put it there? - asks the aunt.
- What do you think? Exactly, we found out,” Ann answers.
- Indeed? And who was it?
- Gypsies. They drove past our house at night and took my mother with them. Nobody knows why they put her under the tree. When my mother was three years old, she was sitting one day under a tree on a bench, just like we are now. And guess what happened to her?
- How should I know!
- They came again and took my mother, do you understand? They grabbed him and pushed him into their cart and rushed off so that only sparks flew from under the wheels. Oh, how grandma cried!
- It seems to me that you sit and invent all sorts of tall tales.
- Not at all. After all, this is my mother, and I know everything about her.
“But you don’t look like a gypsy at all,” says the aunt, looking at the girl’s blue eyes and golden hair.
- And I look like my dad.
- So what happened to your mother then?
- Mom learned to sing and dance and do all sorts of tricks. Everywhere the gypsies came, she danced, and then walked around with a red hat and collected money.
- Wow! - says the aunt.
“And at this time, my grandfather and grandmother were looking for my mother everywhere,” says Ann, “from all the gypsies.” But all the gypsies are alike, and it was very difficult to find her. But one evening...
- And what happened that evening? - Aunt asks with interest.
- One day the gypsies were driving along this road again. And my mother was sitting in the same cart. She forgot her grandparents. And when she saw this cherry, she said loudly: “Look, this is my cherry.”
Grandfather and grandmother were just sitting on this bench and heard this. The gypsies set up their camp in that meadow. At night, my grandfather snuck in there and stole my mother back. The gypsy leader woke up and shot the grandfather. But grandfather hid mom under his jacket, ran home as fast as he could and locked the door.
The unfamiliar aunt was about to say something, but at that moment a cart appeared on the road, many carts. This is a gypsy camp rolling past. Ann turns pale. She grabs her aunt’s hand tightly and shouts:
- Save me! They want to steal me! They want to take me away from my grandparents, just like they took my mother away. Save me!
Auntie is also scared. She thought that Ann was making up stories, but now she doesn’t know what to think.
“Save me,” Ann whispers.
But before the aunt can figure out what to do, Ann quickly climbs the tree and hides in its flowering branches.
Gypsy carts stop near the aunt. Auntie clutches her heart with her hand, it is clear that she is very nervous. A dark man sitting in the first wagon, waving his whip in greeting, asks:
- Can we set up a camp in that meadow over there?
The meadow does not belong to this aunt at all, but she screams in fear:
- No, under no circumstances is it possible! Get out of here! You can't stop here.
The gypsy mutters angrily through his teeth:
- We always stopped at this meadow! We are honest people. We don't steal anything.
“We don’t steal anything!” the aunt thinks to herself. “They only steal children.”
- Go away! - she squeals.
The gypsy curses, and the carts roll on. Ann quickly jumps from the tree.
“Well done, you did it well,” she says, slapping her aunt’s hand approvingly. Aunt puts her arm around Ann's shoulders, as if protecting her. No one will dare steal this lovely baby, she will protect her.
- Do you want to know what happened to my mother then? - asked Ann.
“Of course I want to,” answered the aunt.
- You know, mom loved these cherries very much. And one evening, right after grandpa stole it back from the gypsies, she climbed on it, just like I am now. Only she climbed to the very top. And from there she suddenly fell and lay dead on the grass, white as a cherry blossom.
“Oh, poor child,” exclaims the aunt with a sad look.
But suddenly her face turns red, and she abruptly rises from the bench. But Ann doesn’t notice this.
“There are many cherries in the sky like this one,” says Ann dreamily. - And there mom is swinging on the branches with other angels.
- Shut up! - Auntie is indignant. - Shame on you for inventing such nonsense. Do you want people to believe that your mother died as a small child?! Goodbye, little liar,” she says and walks away with quick steps.
“My mother really died when she was little,” Ann shouts angrily after her.
But she immediately forgets about the unfamiliar aunt. After all, she sits under a tree that grants wishes. Staring at the cherry blossoms, Ann says loudly:
- I want a little pony!
She sits and waits. But the pony doesn't appear. But another aunt appears in the garden with the same dreamy eyes and golden hair as Ann’s.
“Well, baby, it’s time for bed soon,” she says. - Grandparents are calling you for dinner.
“Okay, mom, I’m going,” Ann says obediently.
But she doesn’t leave right away. Flower petals fall on her head, but she doesn't notice them. Little Ann sits under a cherry tree and looks at the flying swallows.

who are capable of performing miracles.

And children create miracles.

A. Lindgren.

A musical epigraph sounds.

Teacher. Today, you guys and I are going on a fabulous journey to visit a writer who is called the “sorceress from Stockholm” or “sorceress from Sweden.” This is Astrid Lindgren (died January 28, 2002). They also called her “the Andersen of our days.” Why do you think?

Lindgren is the author of over thirty-five books and the winner of many Swedish national and international awards. Among them is a medal received at home, which bears the name of one of the most famous heroes of children's literature, Nils Hogelson. The same Nils who flew around Sweden with a flock of geese. Lindgren also had a very special one, given to the favorite children's writer by Polish children. As well as the International Andersen Gold Medal, which is awarded to the best children's writers.

Stockholm is the capital of Sweden. How to find it on the map? On the world map, almost at the North Pole, we will see a large shaggy dog, painted with brown and yellow paint. This is the Scandinavian Peninsula. It contains the two northernmost countries of Europe - Norway and Sweden. Stockholm is located on the shores of a strait and fourteen islands connected by high bridges. It was there that our sorceress spent more than fifty years. And she was born in the south of Sweden in Småland. The guys themselves will tell you about it.

A story about the writer's childhood.

1st student. On November 14 (29), 1907, in the newspaper of the small Swedish town of Vimmerby, in the “Born” section, among other advertisements, it was published: “The tenant Samuel August Erikson has a daughter, Astrid Anna Emilia.”

Småland is a country of lakes and rocks. It's wooded, wild and beautiful. There are many ancient churches and grassy ruins there. Fairy tales, legends and traditions lived in the region. On endless northern evenings, children told each other fairy tales. Astrid's stories were the most interesting and mysterious. The children were also playing and fooling around. They climbed onto the roof of the house, hid in a chest, in piles of sawdust, haystacks, and jumped off stacks of boards.

2nd student But from the age of six they were accustomed to work: thinning turnips, helping adults harvest crops, picking nettles for chickens, carrying water to the mowers in the field.

In their free time from work and play, the children read. Astrid got acquainted with the fairy tales of the greatest writers of Scandinavia: the storyteller from Finland Topemus, the story of Selma Lagerlöf, the Dane H.-H. Andersen, who she liked the most.

Teacher. The childhood fantasy of Astrid and her brother and sisters painted their everyday life in festive colors and filled it with fabulousness. One morning in April, a “miracle” happened. Astrid and Gunnar went into the pigsty to look at the newborn piglets. Next to the big pig, a dozen tiny piglets were crowded on the straw. And suddenly the children thought that in the corner they also saw a newborn green dragon with small evil eyes. And then the unbridled childhood fantasy began to work.

What it is? - asked Gunnar.

He was so surprised that he could hardly speak.

“I think it’s a dragon,” Astrid answered. - The pig gave birth to ten piglets and one dragon.

And so a new game began. Every day, Astrid and Gunnar brought food to the dragon in a basket - candle stubs, skins, corks, etc., which they thought the dragon liked. The game continued until the children got tired of it, and then the dragon “disappeared.” But nevertheless, saying goodbye to him turned out to be sad.

A sad melody sounds.

That evening the pig and piglets were released to pasture. Gunnar and Astrid looked after them. It was cold, the children were freezing. They were jumping to warm up, and suddenly a baby dragon approached Astrid. He put a cold paw to the girl's cheek. His red eyes were full of tears. And suddenly - such a miracle - he flew. Gradually, the dragon turned into a small black dot against the background of the fiery red sun. And the children heard him singing, singing in a ringing, thin voice.

I laugh from morning until evening.

But try to touch me,

I'm not afraid of anyone!

Two braids and freckles,

Yes, plus different stockings.

Do you know what my name is?

Without prompting, you immediately.

(The guys recognize Pippi.)

Yes, guys, you guessed who I am. Now I’ll tell you how I came into this world. Astrid's little daughter Karin, who was seven years old, had been sick for several months and every evening she asked her mother to tell her something. One day Astrid asked her: “What else can I tell you about?” “Tell me about Pippi Longstocking,” answered the daughter. She came up with this name at that very moment, and, since it was unusual, Astrid also came up with an unusual girl to match the name, red-haired, cheerful, with spiky pigtails - me.

And now I’ll give you a quiz and determine which of you knows the book about Pippi best. A prize awaits him.

Quiz.

1. 
   Does Pippi have parents and where are they?
2. 
   How does Pippi sleep?
3. 
   What color are her stockings?
4. 
   What did Pippi do at the circus?
5. 
   What feat did the girl accomplish?
6. 
   What did Pippi do with the medicine she bought?
7. 
   Who did Pippi write the letter to and who received it?

Teacher. Guys, what attracts us to Pippi?

(Pippi is fearless and endowed with an amazing gift of imagination. She has enormous strength, can lift up a circus performer, scatter policemen and thieves in different directions. She always protects the weak and fights for justice.)

Carlson flies around the world

Who sang this song?

Burns with fire

And you and I will sing:

Uti, bosse, busse, basse,

Bisse, and let's rest.

Let them carry a thousand buns

Come to us for your birthday.

And you and I will arrange it here

Uti, bosse, busse, kaput,

Bisse and tararam.

Of course, this is Carlson, a cheerful man with a propeller. On one of the roofs, behind a chimney, there was a small house with green shutters, a porch and a sign: “Carlson, who lives on the roof. "The best Carlson in the world."

Lindgren tells in an extremely interesting way how Carlson first “flew” to her.

Pupil.“I saw him, or rather, I first heard him one night when I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep, maybe because something was buzzing outside the window for a long time. And then he flew into the room, sat down on the bed and asked where to find the Kid. I rubbed my eyes - no, this was not a dream: on my bed in a Stockholm apartment sat a small plump man with a propeller on his back and a button on his stomach. “Who are you?” I asked. “Why did you come to me?” “I am the best Carlson in the world, who lives on the roof,” he answered, “and I flew to you because you wrote an interesting book about Pippi Longstocking.”

This is how a book about Carlson appeared. Who doesn't know about this little man's tricks! This man is in his prime! Remember his tricks. At the first meeting he... However, what did he do at the first meeting? (Blowed up the steam engine.)

(Read scene 1 by role.)

Carlson really arrived. Remember what Malysh and Carlson were doing.

How did they divide the candy? (Staging.)

In the second part - “Carlson, who lives on the roof, has flown in again” - a new heroine appears - the housekeeper Miss Bok. (Reading passage.) Mom went to her grandmother, there was no one at home except Miss Bok and Baby. Troubles began immediately. When the Kid came home from school, there was neither mother nor cocoa and buns in the kitchen - Miss Bok now reigned there, and it cannot be said that the appearance of the Kid made her happy. (Reading passage.) The kid went to the window and began to look out into the street. He stood and thought about how unhappy he was and how sad it was without his mother.

Who can help him at this moment? Of course, Carlson.

(Watching excerpts from a cartoon about Carlson or dramatizing individual episodes of the story.)

Guys, do you like Carlson? Why? After all, he plays pranks, lets down the Kid, who is punished for the tricks of his friend, is greedy, eats all the sweets.

Carlson probably looks like the guys who read about him. They love this little man for his cheerful, brave, good-natured disposition and carefree inventions. They forgive funny childhood weaknesses with a smile. When it comes to serious matters, Carlson will not let you down.

If you remember, Carlson agreed with the Kid on a secret system of signals that would be transmitted using calls.

One call means “Fly here immediately!”, two calls mean “Don’t fly in under any circumstances!”, and three calls mean: “What a blessing that in the world there is such a beautiful, smart, moderately well-fed and brave little man like you.” , the best Carlson in the world!”

Why should I call for this? - The Kid was surprised.

And then that friends need to say pleasant and encouraging things about every five minutes.

Teacher. What a blessing that Astrid Lindgren wrote her fairy tales. They are addressed to everyone who has a kind heart and a cheerful disposition, who knows how to laugh at funny things and cry at sad things, to all of you guys, and to all adults who have not yet completely forgotten that they were once children. Let's ring the bell, and maybe Carlson will fly to us or Pippi will drop by. And life in the world will become a little more interesting and fun. The bell rings in all Lindgren's fairy tales. He reminds us of such seemingly simple things as goodness, justice, selflessness. In 1998, a unique museum “Junibakken” - “June Hill” was created in Stockholm. This is a kind of Lindgrenland, in which you can see almost all the heroes of the writer’s books. And a small planet was named after Astrid Lindgren. When the writer found out about this, she said: “Finally, I will fly! I’ve dreamed about this all my life!”

To the reader.
Hello, my dear!
You know, sometimes you really want the fairy tale to be somewhere nearby again, as only happens in childhood, when you know exactly under which tree the old forest man lives, and in the cry of the owl you guess the tricks of Grandfather Au. And how sometimes you want to become a sorceress yourself, or at least a Grandma-Hedgehog, especially if you are a mother!
Now, you see, it would be wonderful: she ordered the dishes to be washed; clothes - wash and iron, put on shelves; I sorted out my socks in pairs, and I flew to work (on a broom, of course) quickly and without traffic jams.
Dreaming, of course, is very useful, which is why “Yanina’s Fairy Tales” was born, where there are fairy-tale characters, but the main character is an ordinary mother. Well, or a little unusual.

How Masha wanted to get sick, but she ended up working for Baba Yaga
Once upon a time there lived a father, Vasily, and a mother, Yana. And they had children: the eldest daughter, Maria, and the youngest son, Ivan.
They lived without any trouble: dad went to work every day, mom walked Masha to school, and took Vanyushka to kindergarten - everything was as usual.
One evening, when the children were going to bed, mom closed the curtains with cornflowers on the window and began choosing a fairy tale to read to them before bed.
Suddenly Vanya whined:
- Mom! The inside of my neck hurts and it hurts to swallow.
“Open your mouth and say “Ah,” mom asked, and she looked into his mouth.
“It’s red,” my mother was upset, “well, it’s okay: we’ll treat it.”
“Won’t I go to the garden tomorrow?” – Ivan asked and immediately stopped whining.
- Yes! It's always like this! Again Vanka will stay at home with his mother, and I will go to school, go to school, study, study, do my homework, do my homework - this is not life, but some kind of slavery. I wish I could get sick: I’ll sit at home, eat raspberry jam, watch cartoons, and my mother will be nearby! – Marya envied.
Mom looked at Masha with green eyes.
In fact, Yana’s mother’s eyes were tea-colored, with a little green showing through them. But when mom was angry, her eyes turned green, very green - Masha and Vanya and even dad Vasya knew this very well.
So, mom looked with her green, green eyes and said:
- You, Maria, don’t envy your brother and don’t make him sick, but no one will go to school or kindergarten tomorrow - tomorrow is Saturday.
Mom gave Vanya warm milk and honey to drink, wrapped a warm scarf around his throat, sat down next to the beds and began to read a book - the fairy tale “Geese and Swans”.
Children listen to a fairy tale, and their eyes just stick together; mother’s voice, like a heavy blanket, envelops and warms.
Just now, it seems, Masha was in her crib, the curtains with cornflowers were agitated before her eyes, and now she is standing in a clearing in the middle of the forest and the grass around is agitated, insects are buzzing. Maria has an empty basket in her hand, and in the clearing all around there are visible and invisible strawberries - it’s not otherwise that Masha came to the forest for strawberries. The girl looks around and thinks: “Now I’ll pick strawberries and take them home, my mother will be happy!”
Masha began to take strawberries, and the strawberries were so red, large, and fragrant. Masha, one in her mouth - one in the basket, two in her mouth - one in the basket... She got so carried away that she lost the basket. But I ate my fill of sweet, fragrant berries, even too much – my stomach hurt!
Masha got up and looked around - she didn’t know where to go. She stood and stood for a while, sat down on a tree stump - he happened to be right next to her - and, having nothing else to do, began to cry. Burning tears roll down your cheeks:
- Poor, unhappy me! And I lost my basket, and my stomach hurts, and there is no one to pity me!
Suddenly Masha hears:
- Who is it in my strawberry meadow howling like a wolf and bursting into tears? – the voice seems familiar, but I can’t remember whose.
She raises her head, and her eyes are clouded with tears. Standing in front of Masha is a woman, neither old nor young, wonderfully dressed - in bast shoes, a white apron over a long shirt, and a wonderfully tied scarf on her head. You just can’t see your face—the tears are just rolling down like hail.
“I,” says Marusya, sobbing, “are Masha.”
- Well, get up, Masha is our worker. Now you will live with me, look after my household, and tell fairy tales in the evenings - I love listening to fairy tales with passion. But you won't go! So I'll eat you.
She grabbed Maria’s hand and pulled her along:
- You will call me Aunt Galya.
There was nothing to do - Masha began to live with this aunt, heat the stove, carry water, cook dinner, sweep the floors, feed the geese and mend clothes, and tell fairy tales in the evenings.
To be honest, everything worked out poorly for Masha. He splits firewood, but the logs jump in different directions and don’t even want to burn in the stove; If she goes to fetch water with rocker arms, she will either drown the bucket, or she will trip and hit herself and the water will all splash out. She would start feeding the geese, and the geese would hiss and run after Marusya - a couple of times the gander pinched her leg painfully, very painfully. In general, whatever our Maria doesn’t take on, she can’t handle it. My fingers were all pricked with a darning needle. Aunt Galya just throws up her hands - they say, where did such incompetence come from on her head?
And this is what happened with fairy tales. At first Masha wanted to tell those fairy tales that her mother read to her at night, well, there: “The Frog Princess”, “Marya Morevna”, ... And Aunt Galya will listen and listen to such a fairy tale, and then she will start shouting: “You’re telling the wrong thing!” It wasn’t like that!” Marusya will be offended, sulky, and turn to the wall. And her aunt tells her to tell another story. He says: “Otherwise I’ll eat it!”
Whether you like it or not, there’s nothing to do. I have to tell another story.
Masha has already told both “Koloboka” and “The Three Bears”. He thinks: “Tomorrow I’ll tell you about “Turnip”, and then what will I do? My aunt will eat me!”
So the day passed in toil and work. Maria, as usual, pushed uncut and unsplit logs into the oven - she almost started a fire; she swept the dust across the floor with a broom, so much so that the walls and windows were covered with dust; I poured five buckets of water onto the path; I burned the cutlets, and the borscht boiled away. Evening has come - it’s time to tell a fairy tale, but our Marusya’s head is like cast iron, her arms and legs are filled with lead - she can’t lift herself, and she’s trembling all over, wrapping herself in blankets. What a fairy tale this is - the teeth click like fractions.
Aunt Galya looked at her and said:
- My beautiful Masha, are you sick? Well, nothing! Drink tea with raspberry jam, tie a warm scarf around your throat and tell a story. Otherwise I’ll eat it!
Mashenka jumped up here, as if she wasn’t the one who had just been frozen, stamped her feet, and started screaming:
- I want to go home! I want to go to school! I want to learn lessons! I want to see my mother! – and where did the strength come from?
Aunt Galya also got up from her room, frowned all over and walked towards Marusya. And Masha looked around, grabbed whatever came to hand - she wanted to throw it at Aunt Galya. And she came across a broom, which she did not put back when she was kicking the dust around the hut. The broom in her hand began to wiggle and dance, as if alive, and rushed through the open door. But Marusya didn’t have time to unclench her fingers and stuck to the broom. She only blinked her eye, and the broom carried her high, high under the heavens. Masha closed her eyes in fear, but opened her eyes - she was lying at home in her own room, her own bed and curtains, so cute with the cornflowers fluttering on the window.
Marusya jumped out of bed and first ran to the kitchen - she heard her mother rattling dishes there. She ran out to the kitchen, and how she wrapped her arms around her mother, how she pressed her to herself, and she was crying - she couldn’t stop.
- Well, well, Marusya, what are you doing? It’s as if you haven’t seen me for ages! Wait a minute, I’ll fry some pancakes and then we’ll eat. Yes, aren't you sick? - Mom asks and leans over - she wants to kiss Masha on the forehead.
Masha jumped up and down:
- What are you talking about, mom! I am healthy! I'll go make the bed, wash my face and brush my teeth. And after breakfast I’ll do my homework so that in the evening I’ll have time to spend with you.
Mom looked at Marusya with her tea-colored eyes, smiled a little slyly and said:
- Well, go Masha, our worker.
Marusya turned around, opened her mouth, and mom was already at the stove - pouring dough into the frying pan. The dough crackles, and mom deftly turns the frying pan - the pancakes come out thin and thin, like lace. And so Masha wanted these pancakes - she forgot what she wanted to ask, turned around and quickly ran to finish her morning chores in order to be in time before breakfast.
….
In the evening, when the children were already lying in their beds, Yana’s mother straightened their blankets, closed the curtains with cornflowers and began to choose a fairy tale for that evening:
– Maybe we should read “The Frog Princess”?
- No! - Marusya shouts.
- Well, then about “Marya Morevna”?
- No, mom! - Masha refuses again, - Let's not read a fairy tale where Baba Yaga is. Come on, let's read about the Nutcracker or Cinderella.
Mom smiled, and in the corner of her smile there was a trick hiding:
“Okay,” says mom, “let’s start reading a new fairy tale today.”
- What about? – Vanyushka asks.
“About the country where lost children end up,” my mother answered and took a small book from the shelf. Its cover featured an old sailing frigate with cannons on its side and a pirate flag on the mainmast.
- Pirates! – Vanya drawled dreamily. And suddenly he unexpectedly asked:
- Mom, are there young Granny Hedgehogs, well... not old ones?
- Why are you asking? - Mom became interested.
- You see, in fairy tales Baba Yaga is always old and old. But she couldn't have been born like that. Was she ever a girl, played with toys, learned to do magic, then grew up and got married?
- Married?! - Mom laughed.
- Yes! She, after all, also has a daughter - Vasilisa the Wise. Do you remember the fairy tale “Go there - I don’t know where, bring that - I don’t know what”? And since there was a daughter, that means there was a wedding,” Vanya reasons, “...and maybe she also had a son.” He just didn’t end up in any fairy tale.
“And there was a son,” my mother either agreed or repeated. - And it may happen that there are also young Hedgehog Girls.
- And now there is? – the children jumped out of their beds in unison.
And my mother again had cunning in her eyes:
– Let’s better read a fairy tale, otherwise it’s too late!

I often remember our dragon.

I will never forget the April morning when I first saw him.

My brother and I went into the barn: we wanted to look at the piglets born that night.

Momma pig lay in the straw, and ten tiny pink piglets fussed around her warm tummy.

In the corner, all alone, stood a small, weak green dragon with feisty red eyes.

“What else is this?” my brother asked.

I think it’s a baby dragon,” I answered.

Mama Piggy gave birth to ten piglets and one baby dragon!

That's how it was. And how this could happen, no one will ever know.

I think Mama Piggy was as amazed as we were.

She, of course, was not delighted, but gradually she got used to the dragon. The only thing: I couldn’t get used to the fact that he bit me every time he came to drink milk.

Sovronya couldn’t get used to it to such an extent that she finally stopped feeding him.

Therefore, my brother and I had to come to the barn every day and bring food to the dragon.

They brought candle stubs, laces, cork stoppers and everything that dragons eagerly eat.

There is no doubt: if it weren’t for my brother and I, he would have died of hunger.

All the piglets grunted when we opened the barn door. But the little dragon stood absolutely calm, staring at us with his round red eyes. While eating, he did not make a sound, but when he was full, he hiccuped loudly every time and rustled his tail with satisfaction. Yes, it was rustling. If one of the piglets tried to grab a piece from the laces, candle stubs or cork plugs, he became terribly angry and bit: of course! The goodies belonged to him alone! He really was a mean little bastard.

But my brother and I loved the dragon and often scratched his back. It seemed like he was enjoying it. His eyes immediately flashed with a bright red light and he stood as quietly as a mouse, allowing himself to be scratched and stroked.

I can also remember how he once fell into a manger that had pig feed. How it came to this, how he ended up there, I don’t know.

But I will never forget the moment when the dragon swam in the manger.

So calm, confident, happy that it turned out that he knew how to swim!

My brother fished it out with a large stick and put it on the straw to dry. The little dragon shook himself off, so much so that the potato peelings flew to the sides, and after that he laughed loudly, staring at us with his red eyes.

Sometimes he would sit around for days without knowing why.

Then he pretended not to hear anything if anyone addressed him. He just stood in a corner and chewed hay, behaving surprisingly strangely.

In such cases, we got very angry and decided: that’s it! No more food!

Do you hear, your stubborn head? - my brother turned to the dragon when he once again pretended not to hear anything.

You won't get a single candle stump again, pilutta, pilutta, pilutta!

(“pilutta” was spoken once and somewhere and it meant approximately the same thing as “etch”).

No, just imagine! Then the dragon began to cry. Light tears dripped from his red eyes and evoked an indescribable feeling of pity.

“Don’t cry,” I said quickly, “we’re not serious.” You'll get as many Christmas tree candle stubs as you can eat!

And the little dragon stopped crying, laughed and wagged his tail.

Every year, namely on the second of October, I remember the dragon from my childhood. Because it was on October 2nd that he disappeared...

That day, the sunset was so radiant, the sky shimmered with indescribable colors and the lightest fog hung over the meadows.

It was one of those evenings when a quiet dream comes, unclear, like a thin haze of the same fog.

A little dragon, piglets and their mother were grazing in the meadow.

My brother and I looked after them.

The foggy evening air was cool and we were chilled.

In order not to freeze completely, they jumped up and encouraged each other. I thought:

I’ll soon go home, lie down in a warm bed and, before I fall asleep, read a fairy tale.

It was at that moment that the little dragon came up to me. He touched my cheek with his cold paw... and his red eyes filled with tears.

Then... no, it was so strange... he took off.

We didn't know that the dragon could fly. But he rose into the air and flew straight into the heart of the sunset. Soon we could only see him as a small black dot in the fiery red sun. And we heard him singing. He sang in a clear, bright voice and flew. I think the dragon was happy...

I didn't read a fairy tale that evening.

I lay on the bed and mourned our green dragon with red eyes.

I’m writing for the first time, please don’t judge strictly... My younger brother told me this (at first I didn’t believe it, but soon I thought about his words).
My brother and I very rarely walk together, he is a terrible talker, and my brain is boiling from him... Well, we decided to go to the place where he will definitely be silent, this is the cemetery... Perhaps the quietest place I know, think there you can talk about life, and in general, I really like tranquility, so let’s go there. By the time we got there, it started to get dark, we went to his mother’s grave... We sat for a while and then went home. It was already getting dark, and he told me this story on the way... From there on, as it was.
- You know, I can’t sleep peacefully... They come to me all the time... They want me to do something, but they don’t say what... You have unlimited, look about the little creatures with red eyes... They look like a little dragon,” I laughed.
- You're absolutely crazy about games, - who would believe in such a thing, - okay, if it gets easier, I'll take a look.
- yesterday the girl came at night, - I continue to laugh and twist it near my temple, - she gave me this (shows a toy), said that if I put it near the bed, they won’t come to me...
- Nonsense... Stop playing and go home.
We separated... Well, who can believe this? He’s only 15 and still plays... A teenager... You never know what he’ll see or come up with (he loves it), came home at 11, went to bed with the laptop and let’s look on the Internet about these “little red-eyed dragons”, nothing I found it, climbed and decided to go to bed, but it didn’t work out that way... It’s already two in the morning, and I don’t live alone, but with my grandmother and two little sisters, the youngest one screams at night... A restless child... You can't sleep under such screams. She began to wait until she calmed down, or the grandmother would give her some kind of pill... It was already three o'clock... The computer was turned off, everything seemed to be fine... Then the grandmother rushed in and began to say: “Why did you go to the cemetery? is it too late? You can’t go there after four! Now Valya (my younger sister) is dreaming about her mother calling her with her!” I looked at her with a grin (I don’t believe in all this), the grandmother left... And the little one seemed to calm down.... She lay down and closed her eyes with the thought that I would finally sleep. I close my eyes, I hear steps near the bed and a familiar laugh comes, I open my eyes, and there is no one... I thought that I had appeared, but I couldn’t fall asleep, I lay there until half past nine in the morning. And I decided that now I would definitely fall asleep, I turned to the wall, looked at the time and closed my eyes. I feel someone pushing and calling in a whisper, I think it’s really day already. Probably my brother has come and will ask for cigarettes. I won’t get up, let him think that I’m sleeping. He calls again, only louder and stronger, pushing me in the back. Well, I think you'll get it now. I open my eyes... It’s as if my vision has gone dark, and my head is spinning. She overcame herself and turned sharply. There was no one and there was laughter again... It became a little creepy... Then the little one woke up, came running to me and said: “And you have here,” he pokes under the sofa, “such small black ones with red eyes!” - and shows his hand, as if something is holding, - look, “I twirled it near my temple and said: “What, there’s nothing...” To which she replied that there are a lot of them there and asked why I don’t see them and don’t want to fulfill their wishes ... Well, maybe the child has imaginary friends, you never know... Later my brother came, I, of course, didn’t tell him anything, but he said that his mother came to him and said that we should call the priest. Again I laughed at him, but now I think, maybe in vain? If he comes to us now, he’s not sleepy and goes to bed with us, he says, they don’t give him peace at home... And for some reason I can’t sleep in my apartment anymore, although I don’t want to believe in this mysticism, because I’m not a small person, but I don’t see any other explanation...

edited news Omegon - 27-09-2012, 12:56