@jj_productionsxx4794

Yo the beginning is wild

@RedditsUncensored

Someone get a hold on that father in the beginning lmao

@ShortsRedd

Wild! 🔥 You are one of the generous content creators out there! 😊

@queeniekaashvi

keep  up the good work :)

@Real-LiftyOG

You earned a sub

@Financial-Nate

Here Is Everything You Need To Create Reddit Stories

https://rekonise.com/everything-you-need-to-create-reddit-stories-5svhe

@AnimatingVlogs

Why isn’t anyone talking about the beginning of

@ziyad_amah

Yo thank you so much for the tips but where can i find copy right free music

@soussoumechri8841

Thank you 🥰🌺

@Lokesh_op69

How to make this hd because I exported it in capcut in 1080p but after uploading the video is blurry what should I do please help

@Dgischilling

Why was it taken down

@MildyInfuriating

how do we change the reddit frame

@monikamachnik9970

What if ur on mobile?

@RedditAITA556

What is the name of the song at the beginning of

@QuickStoriesReal

Thanks

@HassanSayeed1977

Nice vid

Birds whistled. Those were the ones with heads as grey and furry-looking as little mice. There
was an endless shushing noise, as if the Dnieper River had slipped the chains of its bank in the
night and lay sighing on the doorstep. The goats in their pen made sleepy bleating sounds.
Faintly, from the car park above, came the banging and scraping of garage doors, the rattle of
engines and the soft squishing of tyres in the sand. The trolleybus wires sang their thin,
twanging song.
That was what Masha woke up to every morning. She liked to lie listening before she opened
her eyes; she had a running bet with herself to see if she could predict the weather from what it
sounded like.
‘Sunny,’ she said. ‘Cotton wool sky.’
‘Get yourself out of bed; the kasha’s burning. You and your cotton wool,’ said Granny, who had
no intention of rewarding even correct weather predictions. Granny knew such things as
instinctively as cows, or crows.
Masha sighed and opened her eyes. Kasha was buckwheat boiled with butter. Filling and
cheap, but boring. Next to it on the table, though, Granny had laid out the remains of Masha’s
birthday cake. Feeling her stomach rumble, she hopped out of bed.
It was too hazy to be sunny. Less cotton wool than curdled milk. Thunderstorm weather. How
do you work out the differences like that from sounds, Masha pondered, as she slipped out of
the open door, which was covered with a curtain against mosquitoes, and into the morning air.
Why do the trolleybus wires sing even when there’s no wind, she wondered. She returned to her
home: Icarus the trolleybus. Lots of buses that drove around had the name ICARUS written on
their fronts, but there was only one trolleybus called Icarus. And only this one trolleybus was
home to a little girl called Masha and her very old grandmother.
Icarus had not gone anywhere for a long time. He was parked among meadows and allotments
on the very edge of Kiev, by the Dnieper River. With no overhead electric wires to fix onto, the
two long spring rods attached to the roof waved in the air like antennae, forever searching for a
new source of power on which to drive away. There were no seats inside any more, and in their
place were two cosy beds, two chairs and a table, and a little cooker which ran off a gas
cylinder. A bookcase was tucked between two windows, and a broom handle strung from the
ceiling made a rack for the two occupants to hang up their few clothes. The floor was covered
with a strip of red carpet, and embroidered Ukrainian cloths were draped across the window.
This mid-summer morning he was a cheerful, bright home with the birdsong pouring in through
the open windows.
Masha eyed her pile of birthday presents from yesterday as she ate breakfast. It was a very
small pile. Nothing at all from her mother, even now she was ten, into double figures: a one as
skinny as she was; a fat zero for a peephole onto the world. ‘A good round number,’ Granny
had said approvingly, as if it were an achievement to reach ten.
Masha didn’t want to think about her mother’s missing present. She reached over and pulled a
big glossy book out of the pile. It was an encyclopaedia of animals. Uncle Igor had given it to
her, but she was sure it was not really from Igor at all, but from his wife, Anya. She knew this
because she actually liked it – in contrast to Uncle Igor’s second present, a hideous, pink frilly
dress his daughter Anastasia had worn once or twice and then got tired of, or grown out of.

‘Planning your travels?’ Granny said, as Masha opened the book to look through the
Galapagos, where you could ride on giant turtles; the African jungle, full of sleek, patterned
snakes dripping from the trees. Then she got to Siberian tigers, and Granny sighed and turned
away.
Looking at the picture made Masha ache faintly inside. But it was not a new ache; it was already
four years old. Her father had grown up beyond Siberia in Kamchatka, thousands of kilometres
away to the east, where the tigers live. He said everything there was twice as big as anywhere
else.
45
@shivaligupta5348

@theslushylab

Where do I get the Minecraft parkour videos from?

@adityasingla451

How can I find these stories?? Help

N/A

me: grapefruit
fruit: no please
no: please what?
please: what's a father?
father: sybau
sybau: yeah i knew ts was happening what you're doing is very smart but also very dangerous