In the summer evening of the 99th year, my friend and I – two five-grade students, decided to walk through Atacent (the park in Almaty), and eat ice cream.

I was already approaching the place where we had agreed to meet, and suddenly I heard the screams of a comrade. A terrible picture arose in front of me: my crying friend sits on the edge, and covers his head with his hands, and around runs a shrimp in a fork (apparently drinking), and actively distributes his backbones.

I remember when I was 12 years old with my brother. I was terribly frightened, but I still gained courage and ran to save a friend. Envious of this, the man grabbed him with one hand, so as not to run away, and the other crushed in the fist. And he made it clear to me that his current limit on beating children has not yet been exhausted.

I always understood the clues quickly, so after running away to a safe distance, I began to look through the eyes of an adult who could save us. Luckily, there was a TV host known in the 90s. Without hesitation, I ran to him for help. Of course, the host asked the shuffler to let my friend go. A huge thank you to him! As they interpreted, we stumbled that we had the strength to tell the parents. There were no cell phones at the time. On the way home, the comrade told me that the man suddenly ran to him and started beating him. For the fact that he allegedly stole a bag of meat or something else.

The fighting wounds of a friend were impressive: several times the shashler hit him on the head with a fist, and then began to give out the unshakable backbones.

An hour later, my father and I, and the police, approached the unfortunate stallion. Saturn, who had eaten the children, as in nothing, armed over the mangal. Judging by the bottle of vinegar that fell out of his hands, he did not expect to see us again.

Soon we were at the point of reference. A friend wrote a statement, I was a witness. And the shale was sitting in the corner, covering his head with his hands. Having read the statement, the districtman announced that we have two options: to close the hooligan for fifteen days, or to forgive and release.

Hearing this, the shale began to beg for mercy, and naturally cry. Tears, tears and all things. He even threatened to kneel in front of a friend, but he was raised. "Boys, my wife is giving birth in a month and my mother is sick. Who will feed them? I beg you to let go!” My friend and I saw a healthy man crying for the first time.

And that, I have to admit, made the most indelible impression on us. But we were even more upset when he swore through tears to feed us free of charge with a shale until the end of the centuries. Looking around with the fathers, we decided to regret the feeder.

Forgive and let go.

The next day, two boys took an important walk in the park, anticipating the feast.

Sitting at the sticky table, we began to wait for the promised contribution. Shashilnikov unhappy sprinkled us a dish with two sticks of shashil. So many years have passed, but as I remember now, there were four orphan pieces on each shampoo, two of which were pure fat.

It felt like he regretted not having stifled us yesterday and buried us somewhere under the pine. But we didn’t care, because we were provided with a hollow shawl for the rest of our lives! We quickly dealt with the catering, which was literally earned with the blood and then my comrade, and rightly asked for supplements.

What was answered: a lot of shale is harmful to the liver.

The next day we came back there. But instead of meals we were waiting for a short conversation with the shuffler.

“Did I promise you to eat? and promised. Have I cooked you? Gosted it? are free.”

I wanted to remind him of the oath to feed us forever, but I looked at a friend’s still unhealed seedlings, and we decided not to be angry with fate.

So, at the age of twelve, I realized that compassion for mu’acks is an unacceptable luxury in our time.