It was a cold winter evening; Mr. Khanjyan was sitting behind his desk. The office was lit dimly, but you could see the ivory and gold statues next to the window. He was looking at the floor, not moving a muscle while the phone was ringing off the hook. He took a deep breath, shifted his gaze to the cabinet next to his desk. It was full of photographs with famous personalities, certificates of appreciation and endless rows of trophies. The one on the far left was given to him by the president of Armenia for “the best businessman of the year”, next to it was the one of the highest achievement for the reconstruction of Gyumri, and another was given by the Ambassador of USA for maintaining the best relationships between the two countries. At that moment the secretary walked in.
“Mr. Khanjyan, everybody is waiting for you.”
“In a moment” he replied without turning his head.
He looked at the Japanese swords hung crossways on the wall. And he had a flashback about his childhood when he used to play with wooden swords with his friends in their garden. He remembered how he left their village house years ago and moved to Yerevan. Thereon his life had changed dramatically and in no time the little Ara of their village had become the respectable Mr. Khanjyan President of “Khanjyan International Co”.
There were series of sweet memories passing in front of his eyes, but suddenly there was one image that froze in his mind. He walked out of the office with a big smile on his face.
While passing by the big hall, he heard laughter. He turned his head and saw a lot of people had gathered to rejoice. They were all toasting, eating and drinking happily. It was a true celebration. He walked pass the hall and went through the back doors of the company to look for his Porsche. Ara gestured at the security attendant not to approach him. He himself unlocked his car and drove away quickly.
It was getting dark, but he knew the road very well although it had been more than a decade. In less than an hour, Ara parked the car in front of an old cottage, turned off the engine and walked to the door. he took a deep breath, walked into the dark house. There were no lights except for a shadowy beam coming from a room. Without hesitating, he walked to the light and through the door. in the middle of the room, there was a big wooden table. On the top of it was a half melted lit candle and an old women with her head hanging. She moved her head and raised her eyes at him. The smile lit her crying eyes.
“I knew you’d come. I have been praying for you. Happy Birthday son.”
“Mr. Khanjyan, everybody is waiting for you.”
“In a moment” he replied without turning his head.
He looked at the Japanese swords hung crossways on the wall. And he had a flashback about his childhood when he used to play with wooden swords with his friends in their garden. He remembered how he left their village house years ago and moved to Yerevan. Thereon his life had changed dramatically and in no time the little Ara of their village had become the respectable Mr. Khanjyan President of “Khanjyan International Co”.
There were series of sweet memories passing in front of his eyes, but suddenly there was one image that froze in his mind. He walked out of the office with a big smile on his face.
While passing by the big hall, he heard laughter. He turned his head and saw a lot of people had gathered to rejoice. They were all toasting, eating and drinking happily. It was a true celebration. He walked pass the hall and went through the back doors of the company to look for his Porsche. Ara gestured at the security attendant not to approach him. He himself unlocked his car and drove away quickly.
It was getting dark, but he knew the road very well although it had been more than a decade. In less than an hour, Ara parked the car in front of an old cottage, turned off the engine and walked to the door. he took a deep breath, walked into the dark house. There were no lights except for a shadowy beam coming from a room. Without hesitating, he walked to the light and through the door. in the middle of the room, there was a big wooden table. On the top of it was a half melted lit candle and an old women with her head hanging. She moved her head and raised her eyes at him. The smile lit her crying eyes.
“I knew you’d come. I have been praying for you. Happy Birthday son.”
9 comments:
Hello, I like the blog.
Sorry not write more, but my English is bad writing.
A hug from Portugal
hello (Szia)
i prefer the firs story more. actually it sounds like life in yerevan is pretty much the same as over here too, or anywhere
keep it up guys, i'm waiting forward for your next story
Guys, I really liked it very much, it tuched me, went deep into my heart. While I was reading I was imagining all what was wriitten. You had used very strong words to express your ideas. I, myself, write stories,but in Armenian. But your style of writing is super. Great start guys, hope you won't stop here and will go further and further.
The thing that I like more was that there was nothing redundant. Each word was chosen and written caressingly, so that the reader will be able to get the meaning. BRAVO
Guys I liked it very much. It touched me and went deep into my heart.Your style of writing is super. In a short story you have managed to present an excellant picture of a man who is full of emotions and feelings.Well done Bravo
look what u made ` guys my whole body shuddering !! u know why? coz ur story so much tenuous.. How u could write it with this much close to real .... i liked it !your ability to move the reader till to the end is so strong!! I see union in the chosen words....
I'm waitin forward for ur new stories...
growin up we were mislead that the word story meant fairy tails! news about what happens far far away in a dream land!
yours are not one of those!
stories about real ppl in real moments!
touching,impressive and right to the core of one's sentiments!
keep it up !
STUNNING.....
Hallo, i liked the bog, it is really a cool thing.
as to the stories, they are interesting, funny and promising.
I liked the style of writings and your personal way of sending the message to the reader, you manner of treatment of peculiar combination of language means is undoubtedly great.
What I advise you to do is to use more complicated stylistic devices in order to give an opportunity to the reader to perform mental efforts in a high way for decoding the message.
i have no words to express how i feel right now . this story touched me very much deep in my heart ... i took and read it to my mother and she liked it very much,and wants to congradulate u since she doesn't know much of english she asked me to write a comment!
great job!
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