Айжан Омурбекова

Я люблю читать произведения моих любимых авторов: Александра Дюмы, Стивена Кинга, Джона Стула, Михаила Булгакова и Джоан Роулинг. Также, я питают большой интерес к искусству и музыке. Я могу назвать себя творческой личностью так как очень люблю рисовать, украшать старые вещи и вышивать бисером. Я люблю петь, изучать языки и знаю кыргызский, русский, английский и турецкий. Будучи маленькой я сочиняла стихи на кыргызском, но серьезно писать сочинения и рассказы на английском я начала с лицея благодаря доверию и поддержке одного из моих учителей. Я верю что если сильно захотеть можно покорить любые высоты.

«Mother’s heart»




Friday turned out to be sunny and warm and the sky was clear and blue as the 11th grades were anticipating it to be. It was a memorable day for them. They were graduating from school, leaving these tiny classrooms in history and longing for a vast, bright future. When the official ceremony and prom were over, everybody started flowing out of school. Students were pushing their ways throw to get a grab for a better seat in a bus that school hired for them to maintain the old tradition of seeing the dawn. Exited and happy they were leaping in and out of the bus, playing and singing. When it was ready and everybody was fairly seated it slowly moved in a buzz of chatter and music.




Calm waves were rolling in and slowly breaking on the shore. Moon lit the beach and the water shimmered in its light. A pleasant breeze was rustling the leaves of the trees growing along the track which diverged from the main road where the yellow bus showed up. It came all the way down to the beach and while it was making a turn to park students impatient with the growing excitement, hopped from the bus when suddenly from nowhere a crowd of schoolboys appeared and started beating a fair, tall boy. It was completely unexpected so most of the graduates were in shock, rooted to the ground, staring at the fight. Some guys tried to help their friend, but the crowd was too furious and large for them to overcome. These were the boys of 14-15, not more, who knew nothing in this life. Almost all of them had something on their hands: whether it be a knife or differing varieties of size sticks and almost all of them hunkered to take turn in this fight. Though he was already killed,the crowd was stabbing the corpse hundreds of knives mercilessly. They were hiting and kicking it, beating with sticks and fists till the corpse turned into a carved into  small pieces meat with the eyeballs out on the ground. It all happened as quick as a flash. Crowd vanished as quick as it appeared, and the beach exposed the bloody flesh of already a non-recognizable boy. Chaos was broken by the chilling scream of the mother running with her whole power to her child.


“Cholpon! Cholpon! Honey, calm down. You hear me? Just calm down, take a deep breath. Everything is all right, darling…”

It was an unusually dead night. No barking of dogs or buzzing of traffic. One of those hours when a horror film would suit best the atmosphere. The whole street was enjoying it’s sleep except for the residents of the house number 6 where the lights just turned on and someone was awkwardly running here and there.

“Darling, here you are. Kuban took the glass of water to his wife’s mouth after she’d swallowed her pills, so that she wouldn’t spill it with her restlessly shaking hands.

It was one of those uneasy nights when the same nightmare tortured her again. But the reality was no better. Two months ago their son was murdered pitilessly on his graduation party. Chopped, minced into slices and everyday since she saw this picture in her dreams. It was so clearly drawn in her mind, she was almost living with it days and nights.

-Whyyy? Why did they kill my son? Why did they kill my boy?

Now she was sobbing her soul out, hugging tightly her husband.

-Shh! Honey! I need you. You hear me? Bolot was my son too. I also feel a terrible pain but we need to be strong.

-Why? Why not me? Why did you take him? Why?! Why?! Why?!

Kuban hugged  his wife more tightly who was already shouting at the ceiling.

-Ok. Ok, honey. Calm down. It’s over now. Calm down. Let’s drink a little water?

He dried her face and gave her a little water.


-Yes…Did you wanna say something?

-I’m afraid, Kuban. I’ afraid for Bakyt…What will happen with him?

-Listen. We will talk about it in the morning. Everything will be fine with him. Just don’t worry. Don’t think about anything. You need a rest.

Kuban gave his wife a kiss, put her to bed and switched the light off. He didn’t believe his own words were true. Yes. It  was a real reason to worry about. His son was killed because he extorted money from children; and now they were here just the two of them in this big, empty house, sitting and staring at each other day by day. Their elder son was an alcohol-addict. What is more, they had no idea where he was at the moment. He just left without saying anything two days ago. And everything left for them was to wonder if he was ok.

Meanwhile, Cholpon could’t close her eyes. The fear for her second son didn’t leave her heart in peace. Three days ago, when  she had been cooking dinner, all the silence had been broken by the terrible orchestra of barks led by the unclear yells of her son. Surely, it hadn’t been of a  difficulty to work out that he had been drunk. In a minute, she had been outside at the gates. For those who had seen this for the first time, Bakyt would be no different from the street dog or they simply wouldn’t notice him or at least would pretend  not seeing. For Cholpon this hadn’t been news anymore for she saw Bakyt this way all the time during the last three years. His brown, kinky hair had been greasy and  dishevelled, his face naturally pale had been red and touched by wrinkles. His mouth had smelled and beautiful brown eyes had roved in search for answer of his whereabouts. His clothes had been filthy as if washed in dirt after falling and lying everywhere. He had been struggling to stand up leaning on the gates with his shaky hands and mumbling something to himself, time by time shouting loudly at his sides as if he hadn’t  forgotten the presence of the two young men who had brought him back home.

The neighbors had always been attentive in this kind of “shows”. Three of them had been sitting at the bench on the other side of the road. One had been passing by “by accident” and the others had been looking from their windows. This would be a good topic for their discussion during tea for the whole week, if not more. Cholpon had asked those men to take her son inside and they had dragged him home against his will, against his shouts and threats. Leaving him at the very first room, they escaped immediately.

Cholpon had waited for her son to finish the soup. His shouts and protests against  staying home slowly had given way to a deep sleep and mother had covered her son with quilt, to find him gone the next day. Three years ago his downfall would seem inevitable. He had had a job, wife and a son. But everybody had been blind not to notice that alcohol had been overrunning him. Now, they would have been a big family. They would have had their grandson,who would have set happiness to this mourning house. They would have laughed at his mischieves and relish his sweet tongue. But these were only wishes and regrets.

Cholpon didn’t want to sleep. To be frank, she was afraid to sleep. She was afraid that the second nightmare would visit her dreams, her aching heart. But slowly her eyelids closed unable to resist the sleep and now she was in a trap. There was no escape. No one would hear her shouts.




“A police car on patrol in the downtown Main Street. We have a car speeding up. Descriptions:black BMW X5  I9978D leading West. Repeating:black BMW X5  I9078D heading West”.

-I see it!

A police car parked hidingly among bushes, now was chasing after a traffic offender.

— Do they think they can catch me? HA-HA-HA! No way!

-He is crazy! Who he thinks he is?

-He is drunk.This is the only answer for…

BMW was speeding more and more, therefore police asked for reinforcement and now three police cars raced past, sirens wailing. They were already close when BMW  turned left and a truck hit it. It flew away with a boom and got squashed. Police hurried to take the injured out of the car but it was late. He was already dead.


Phone call at three o’clock at night woke Kuban up. He quickly put on his robes and hurried to the hall.


Cholpon knew the terrible ending of the telephone conversation. She saw it everynight. There was no need to try to hold on to this life.


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