Short and long i sound

Short and Long I Vowel Sound Words List

One of the reasons why English spelling is so difficult to learn is because often the same sound is spelled in a variety of ways. Today we’ll discuss about vowel ‘i’ and different sounds produced by it when used in a word.

We have prepared an extensive phonics list to introduces students to “short i” and “long i” sound words.

If you take a good look at the words given in the above table and try to pronounce them you will observe that you’ll hear a soft ‘i’ sound it because we don’t have to stress on the vowel ‘i’.

In past blog posts we’ve looked at how to spell the long /a/ sound and long /e/ sound. Now let’s have a look at long ‘i’ vowel words where you will see that we have to put stress on vowel ‘i’ if we want to pronounce the word correctly.

Following is a list of long i sound phonics words for kids:

Let’s see the six ways of spelling the long /i/ sound with example words.

1. Using Letter I: These are polysyllabic words which spell the long /i/ sound with just the letter i. Usually long /i/ sound is in the first syllable

2. I – E Words: Here long /i/ sound is spelled using a split digraph i_e with an i in the middle of the word and an e at the end of the word.

3. IGH Words: Here we use letters igh to spell the long /i/ sound where the g and h are silent letters.

4. IG Words: These words spell the long /i/ sound with the letters ig and end with the letter n.

5. Y Words: In these words the long /i/ sound is spelled with the letter y. (usually at the end of a word and sometimes in the middle)

6. IE Words: the long /i/ sound is spelled with the letters ie at the end.

We put lot of emphasis on vowel ‘i’ that is why they are called Long ‘i’ vowel words.

Keep exploring EnglishBix for more Elementary Grade resources.

Quick Links

Short and Long 'I' Sounds | 4th Grade Spelling

Long vowels sound like the vowel name itself (a, e, i, o or u).  

Long 'i' sounds like the 'i' in mile.

Short vowel sounds sound different from their long sounds.

Short 'i' sounds like the 'i' in mill.

In this lesson, let's learn to spell a bunch of words with either short or long 'i' sounds.

Short 'i' Sound

Here are some words that have the short 'i' sound:

fit

river

invent

still

animal

minimum

Long 'i' Sound

Here are some long 'i' words:

idea

library

design

final

title

primary

Sometimes, the letters 'i + consonant + e' make the long 'i' sound and a silent 'e' 🙊. ✅ 

mobile

drive

website

describe

Sometimes the letters 'igh' make the long 'i' sound. ✅

bright

slight

knight

highway

Sometimes the letter 'y' makes the long 'i' sound. ✅

Hydrogen

July

apply

multiply

Sometimes the letters 'ie' make the long 'i' sound. ✅

tie

pie

fries

replied

Sometimes, the letter 'i' makes the long 'i' sound when it appears in 'ind'. ✅

blind

kind

rewind

grinder

Sometimes, the letter 'i' makes the long 'i' sound when it appears in 'ign'. Here, 'g' is silent 🙊. ✅ 

design

align

resign

Great work! Can you spell all these words? Try the practice and see.

Elena-beauty - Balmont.

In a certain kingdom, far away,
In a thirtieth state - Oh, sound, my flute! -
In a very, very old kingdom lived a mighty strong King,
It was at that time, it was completely old.
The King, in that old kingdom, had a well done Sagittarius.
The young Sagittarius had a nimble horse,
As it goes, so the world will pass from end to end,
Chase him, he will leave any chase.
Once Sagittarius went to the forest to amuse the zealous,
He rides, he sees a golden feather from the Firebird,
On the road it brightly glows, a golden fire burns,
He wants to take a feather - the heroic horse broadcasts:
“Don’t take a golden feather, but if you take it, you will know sorrow.
Sagittarius pondered, well done thinks,
Sculpt - not to take, it's too bright, will be a yahont in a dress,
Will be a semi-precious stone. Didn't listen to the horse.
Picked up a pen. The king brings the luminous sign of Fire.
"Well, thank you," the king said, "you took out the feather of the Firebird,
So get me a bride by the decree of that Bird,
From the Firebird you scout out the name of the royal maiden,
So that she was worthy to enter the royal golden tower!
If you don't get it - here is my sword, The head will roll off the shoulders.
Sagittarius twirled, went to the horse, dark in his eyes.
"What, master?" - "So and so", they say. - “You see, I said the truth:
Do not take a golden pen, but if you take it, you will know grief.
Well, yes, well, let's go to the edge, where the vault of Heaven is always al.
There we will see the Firebird, I will tell you the way there.
So be it, I will serve this service to the young.
Here they came to unearthly gardens,
The sky there merges with the blue sea,
The sky there is ablaze with unfading fire,
Midnight is dazzling, at midnight it is like day there.
At the right moment, where the eternal flower blooms,
The horse neighs at the Tree, beats with a ringing hoof,
The Tree burns with apples,
The sea rustled. Someone is flying towards them.
Someone descended, the heat is even stronger,
The whole game blushed all the living stones.
Sagittarius' eyes were closed from Fire,
And a voice rang out, ringing with music.
Where did the song sing? In the heart or in the garden?
Oh flute, I don't know! I will speak next.
That song sang: “There is a way for a dream.
Wandering dreams are good.
Who wants a bride for a bright soul,
Look for Beauty in the world.
The Firebird sang: “There is a way for dreams.
Where the Sun rises, the band burns,
There Elena-Krasa is a golden scythe.
That Princess lives where the Sun rises,
Where the blue Sea sings to the eternal Spring.
The sound ended here, the storm roared,
And Sagittarius could open his eyes with relief: -
No one in front of him, not above him,
Only the boundlessness of Water, turquoise, turquoise,
And a ruby ​​flame above the blue dream.
On the road, Sagittarius. Whoever heard the Firebird at least once,
That one will not be dark on the way for an hour,
And he will find, as treasures are in the forest,
That Princess Elena-Krasa.
Here comes the Sagittarius, stroking the horse's mane,
He comes to the evergreen meadows,
He looks at the birth of the eternal day,
And he pitched a golden dome tent there.
He has arranged food and wine there, and is waiting.
Here the Princess floats on the blue Sea,
On a silver boat, on the blue path,
She rules the golden oar.
She saw a golden-domed tent;
They began to eat, began to drink, began to drink, and she
Suddenly got drunk from overseas wine,
She smiled, fell asleep - and immediately Sagittarius
On horseback, a fine fellow rides with her.
Here he came to the King. The horse flew like an arrow,
And Elena-Krasa was still sleeping and sleeping.
And all along their path, with a golden scythe
The Earth lit up like a thunderstorm.
Beauty awakened, far from the meadows,
Where the emerald was always ready to bloom,
Changed in the face, sob, yearn,
Persuaded by the King, impossible to appease.
The Tsar planned to marry Elena the Beauty,
With that Elena the Beauty with a golden braid.
But she doesn't want to, she says in the midst of tears,
So that the one who brought her so far,
I went to the blue Sea, where the Stone is large,
Her wedding dress is golden there.
Let him get the wedding dress first,
After, maybe there will be other words.
The Tsar is now behind Sagittarius, says: “Go,
Give me the wedding dress of Beauty,
Find this land - otherwise, here is the sword,
My speech is short, your head is off your shoulders”
Is it really time for Sagittarius to be upset?
He remembered: "Don't take the golden pen."
The horse rescued again: in front of the abyss of the sea
Stepped on the great cancer with his foot,
He said: "Do not destroy. " The horse said: “I will spare you.
But you serve.” - "I will serve with honor"
Wonder-Cancer shouted to the whole sea,
And the same divas crept down in a crowd,
In the depths of the blue from under the Stone they
uprooted the Miracle Dress, lights flashed.
And Sagittarius-well done wedding dress
He put it before Beauty, but great emphasis
Then she showed, and finally orders
So that Sagittarius bathes in hot water.
Boiler boils That's the trouble so trouble.
Spray hits. Speaks, boiling, water
If you were looking for good, then good has come.
You don't take the golden pen.
Sagittarius was frightened, resorting to a horse,
A good horse-sorcerer conjures fire
Do not destroy the young Sagittarius,
Only renew him with the beauty of his face.
Here Sagittarius bathed in hot water,
He came out unharmed, twice as good,
Whatever to say in a fairy tale or write with a pen.
The Tsar is here to unleash his old age,
Right into the hot cauldron. You want your own,
Not someone else's died The whole thing here is about him.
A Elena-Krasa golden braid -
I already found such a stripe on her -
I wanted Sagittarius, got married to Sagittarius,
We sing about her and about him on the flute.

Read eerily loud and extremely close by Jonathan Safran Foer - LitRes, page 3

In what way do I sound like a dad? “He used to say that often.” - "Like?" - “Like so-and-so is incompatible. Or so-and-so brilliant . Or of course. She laughed. "He always generalized everything." What does "generalized" mean? “It means to unite together. From the word "common". "What's wrong with generalization?" “It’s just that very often dad couldn’t see the trees behind the forest.” - "Behind what forest?" - "No matter".

"Mom?" - "Yes". “I don’t really like it when you say that I do some things, just like dad.” - "Yes? Sorry. Do I often say that? - "Constantly". “I can imagine how unpleasant that can be. ” “And Grandma always says that I do some things, just like Grandpa. I don't feel comfortable with that because they don't exist. And I also feel like I don't mean anything to you." “Neither my grandmother nor I definitely mean this. Don't you know how much you mean to us?" - "Well, I know." – “You are all mean to us.”

For a while she stroked my head, and her fingers reached behind my ear, in a place that you almost never touch.

I asked if I could button up her dress again. She said, "Of course," and turned her back on me. She said, “I think it would be right if you still try to go to school.” I said, "I'm trying." “Go to at least the first lesson.” "I can't even get out of bed." Lie #6: “Dr. Fine said I should listen to myself. He said that if you don’t feel like it, it’s better not to force yourself.” I wasn't completely wrong here, but I wasn't completely right either. “I don’t want it to become a habit,” she said. "Won't come in," I said. Putting her hand on the blanket, she must have suspected something, because she asked if I was lying in bed dressed. I said, "Yes, and that's because I'm cold." No. 7. "Except for the fact that it's hot."

As soon as she left, I gathered everything I needed and went downstairs. “You look better today,” Stan said. I said it was none of his business. He said, "Me too." I said, "I just feel worse today."

I went to the art supply store on Ninety-third Street and asked the woman at the entrance if I could speak to the manager, because that's what my dad always did when he had an important question. "Can I help with anything?" she asked. “I need a manager,” I said. "Understand. Can I help with anything?" “You are incredibly beautiful,” I said, because she was fat, and I decided that it would be especially pleasant for her to hear it, and also in order to please her again, even though I acted like a sexist. "Thank you," she said. I said: "You are just a screen star." She shook her head like a What are you? “OK,” I said, and showed her the envelope and explained how I found the key, and how I am now trying to find the lock it opens, and how the word “Black” can mean anything. I wanted to know everything she could tell me about black, since she's definitely a color expert. “Well,” she said, “I don’t know which one of me is an expert. But one thing I can say is that it's a little unusual that the word "Black" is written with a red pen.

I asked what was so unusual about this, because my dad always had a red pen for the New York Times on hand. “Come here,” she said, and led me to a case with ten handles. "Look". She showed me a notepad that was next to the display case.

“See,” she said, “most people write the name of the color of the pen they try.” - "Why?" - "How do I know. Probably some kind of psychological trouble. “Psychological means mental?” - "Practically." I thought about it, and I had an insight that if I wanted to try a blue pen, I would most likely write the word "blue". “It’s not easy to do like your dad, write the name of one color in another color. Not everything will work out." - "Truth?" “And this is even more difficult,” she said and wrote something on the next page of the notebook, and asked me to read it aloud. She was right: it was even more difficult to read, because part of me wanted to say the name of the color, and another part of me wanted to say what it was written. In the end, I didn't say anything.

I asked her what that might mean. "Well," she said, "I don't know if means or anything. But look: when a person tries a pen, he most often writes either the name of its color or his own name. The fact that 'Black' is written in red makes me think that Black is the last name." “Perhaps even female.” "And I'll tell you more." - "What?" - “ B - you have a capital letter. And we usually write the name of the flowers with a lowercase. - "Babai!" - "I apologize?" - "Black wrote Black" . - "What?" – “ Black wrote Black. I have to find this Black." She said, "If there's anything else I can do to help, get in touch." - "I love you". “Just don’t shake your tambourine like that - you’re in the store.”

She walked away, and I stood a little longer, trying to keep up with the work of my brain. I flipped through the notebook from the back to the beginning, thinking about what Stephen Hawking would have done in my place.

I tore the last page out of my notebook and ran after the manager again. She was helping someone pick out brushes, but I decided it wouldn't be rude to interrupt her. “This is my dad,” I said, pointing my finger at his name. “Thomas Schell!” “What a coincidence,” she said. I said, "But he didn't buy art supplies." "Maybe he bought it and didn't tell you." “Maybe he just came in for a pen.” I ran all over the store, from window to window, checking to see if I had left my mark on the other departments. That way I could tell if he was buying various art supplies here or just a pen.

It was hard to believe what I found.

His name was all over the place. He tried markers and oil tubes and colored pencils and crayons and pens and pastels and watercolors. He even scratched his name on a piece of molding clay and I found a palette knife with a yellow tip so I knew exactly what he did it with. It looked like he was starting the biggest art project in history. Only I did not understand: after all, all this should have been more than a year ago.

I found the manager again. "You said that if there was anything else you could do to help, I would contact you." She said, "First I'll finish with the buyer, and then I'll be at your complete disposal." I stood and waited while she finished with the buyer. She turned to me. I said, “You said if there was anything else you could do to help, I would contact you. I need to review the sales records." - "Why?" “To find out when my dad was here and what exactly he bought.” - "Why?" - "To know". - "But why?" “Your dad didn’t die, so you still won’t understand.” She said, "Your dad died?" I said yes. And he added: "I am very vulnerable." She walked over to one of the cash registers, which was actually a computer, and tapped the screen with her finger. "Spell out his last name." - "Sh.E.L.L." She kept pushing, and moved her face, and said: "Nothing. " - "Nothing?" “Either he didn’t buy anything, or he paid in cash.” - "Akshakak, I'm right now." - "I apologize?" “Oscar Shell… Hey mom… Because I’m in the bathroom… Because it was in my pocket… Uh-huh… Uh-huh… Not much, but can I call you back when I’m not in the toilet… Like in half an hour?… Not on the phone… Probably... Uh-huh... Uh-huh. Okay, Mom… Yes… Bye.”

"Then I have another question." “Are you talking to me or on the phone?” - "With you. Have these notebooks by the windows been there for a long time?” - "I dont know". “He died over a year ago. It's been a long time, right?" “They certainly wouldn’t have lain that long.” “Are you absolutely sure?” “Not absolutely, but sure.” “Seventy-five percent or more?” - "More". “Ninety-nine?” - "Less". “Ninety?” - "About that." I concentrated for a few seconds. - "Well, it's up to a fig percent."

I ran home and surfed the Internet some more and found that there are 472 people in New York named Black. There were 216 addresses, because some of the Blacks, of course, lived together. I calculated that if every Saturday I went to two, which seemed feasible, plus holidays, minus Hamlet rehearsals and other things, such as geological and numismatic conventions, then it would take me about three years to get around everyone. But I can't wait three years. I wrote a letter.

Cher Marcel!

Alló. I am Oscar's mom. I thought about it and came to the conclusion that I don’t understand why Oscar needs this French, so he will no longer go to you on Sundays, as before. I am very grateful to you for everything you taught him, especially for the conditional time, which is a complete joke. Of course, don't call me when Oscar doesn't come to class, because I already know about it, because I decided so. And I'll still pay for his classes because you're cool.

Votre ami dévoée

Mademoiselle Shell

This was my brilliant plan. Find people with the last name Black on weekends and find out from them everything they know about the key and the vase from dad's closet. In a year and a half I will know everything. Or at least that a new plan is needed.

Of course, I wanted to talk to my mother the very night I decided to start my search, but I couldn't. Not because I thought I was going to get pissed off for sticking my nose where I shouldn't, and not because I was afraid she'd get angry because of the vase, and not even because I was angry with her for being hangs out with Ron so much, even though she needs to refill her reservoir of tears. I can't explain why, but I was sure she didn't know about the vase, or the envelope, or the key. The castle was only ours with dad.

So if during the eight months that I was walking around New York, she asked where I was going and when I would return, I answered only: “On business. I will come later". What was especially strange, and what was worth looking into, was why she never elaborated on anything, like “On what business?” or “When later?”, although she was usually very worried about me, especially after the death of dad. (She bought me a cell phone so we could always find each other, and told me to take a taxi, not the subway. She even took me to the police station for fingerprints, which was super cool.) So why did she suddenly become about me forget? When I left to look for the castle, I became a little easier because I was getting closer to my dad. But also a little harder, because I felt myself moving away from my mother.

That night, lying in bed, I couldn't stop thinking about the key and how every 2.777 seconds a new lock is born in New York. I pulled Stuff That Happened to Me from the gap between the bed and the wall and leafed through it a bit, hoping it would help me sleep.

After an eternity, I got up and went to the closet where the phone was hidden. After the worst day, I never took it out of there. It was simply impossible.

I often think about those four and a half minutes between when I got home and when my dad called. Stan stroked my face, which he had never done before. I took the elevator for the last time. I opened the door to the apartment, put my bag on the floor and took off my shoes, as if everyone was hurt, because I didn’t know that everything was really just terrible, because how was I to know? I stroked Buckminster to show him how much I adore him. I went to the phone to check the messages and listened to them one by one.

Message one: 8:52 Message two: 9:12 Message three: 9:31 Message four: 9:46 Message five: 10:04

I thought about calling my mother. I thought about grabbing my walkie-talkie and radioing grandma. I rewinded the messages to the beginning and listened to them again. I looked at the clock. It was 10:22:21. I thought about running away from home and never talking to anyone again. I thought about hiding under the bed. I thought about going to the twin towers and seeing if I could somehow save him myself. And then the phone rang. I looked at the clock. It was 10:22:27.

I knew not to let my mother hear these messages, because protecting her is one of my first raisons d'être , so I did this: I took the money from my father's NZ on the chest of drawers and went to Radio NIS ^[23] to Amsterdam ^[24] . There I saw on TV how the first tower was falling. I bought a new phone, which was exactly the same as ours, and rushed home and copied our greeting from the old phone onto it. I wrapped the old phone in a scarf that my grandmother never finished tying because of my intractability, and put it in a plastic bag, and I put the bag in a box, and the box in another box, and I put it in my closet under a pile of junk, like a set of my jewelry tools and albums with foreign coins.

That night, when I decided that the search for the castle was my most important raison d'être – raison, before which all other raisons pale, – I needed to hear it.

I was trying hard not to make a noise as I took the phone out of the stash. Even though the volume was almost zero so that Dad's voice wouldn't wake up Mom, it still filled the room like a light, even when it's dim.

Second message. 9:12. It's me again. Are you there? Hello? Sorry if. Not much here. Smoky. I hoped I would. You. Houses. I don't know if you've already heard what happened. But. Me. Just wanted to let you know that it's okay. All. Fine. When you listen, call your grandmother. Tell her I'm fine. I'll call again soon. Firefighters probably will. Here right here. I'll call.

I rewrapped the phone in the loose scarf and put it back in the bag, and put the bag back in the box, and the box in another box, all in a closet under a pile of junk.

I stared endlessly at false stars.

I invented.

I bruised myself.

I invented.

I got up, went to the window and took the radio. "Grandmother? Grandma, can you hear me? Grandmother? Grandmother?" - "Oscar?" - "I'm fine. Reception. " - "So late. What happened? Reception." - "I woke you up? Reception." - "Not. Reception." - "What were you doing? Reception." “Chatted with the tenant. Reception." “He still doesn’t sleep? Reception." Mom told me not to ask my grandmother questions about the tenant, but often it came out by itself. “No,” Grandma said, “he just left. He had housework. Reception." “At 4:12 in the morning? Reception."

The tenant moved in with my grandmother immediately after my father's death, but although I visited her apartment almost every day, I never met him. He was constantly running around doing chores, or taking naps, or taking showers, even when the water was quiet. Mom said, "I think grandma is very lonely, don't you think?" I answered her: “I think all people are lonely.” "But Grandma doesn't have a mother, or friends like Danielle and Jake, or even Buckminster." - "This is true". “Maybe she needs an imaginary friend.” "But I'm real," I said. “Yes, and she loves when you visit her. But you still have a school, and friends, and rehearsals of Hamlet, and circles . .. ”-“ Please don’t call them circles. “I just wanted to say that you can't be with her all the time. And she probably wants to have a friend her age.” "How do you know her imaginary friend is old?" "You're right, I don't know that."

She said, "Every person needs a friend." “Are you talking about Ron?” - "Not. I'm talking about my grandmother." “Though it’s actually about Ron.” “No, Oscar. Not about Ron. And I don't like your tone." - Normal tone. “Not ordinary, but incriminating.” "I don't even know what 'incriminating' means, how could that be my tone?" “You wanted me to be ashamed of having a friend.” - "No, I didn't want to." She ran her wedding ring hand through her hair and said, "You know, I'm really only told about her grandmother, Oscar, but it's true. I need friends too. What's bad about it?" I shrugged. "Don't you think dad would like me to have friends too?" - Normal tone.

My grandmother lives in the house across the street. We are on the fifth floor, and she is on the third, but the difference is almost imperceptible. Sometimes she writes me notes on the window, which I read through binoculars, and once my dad and I spent the whole evening designing a paper plane that could be launched from our apartment to hers. Stan stood outside picking up our failed attempts. I remember one note she wrote shortly after my dad died: "Don't go."

Grandmother leaned out the window and put the walkie-talkie extremely close to her lips, which made her voice tremble. "Are you okay? Reception?" - "Grandmother? Reception?" - "Yes? Reception." “Why are the matches so short? Reception." - "In what sense? Reception." “It always looks like they're going to burn out whole. In the end, everyone is in a hurry, and sometimes they even burn their fingers. Reception." “I'm not an expert,” she said, belittling herself as always before giving her opinion, “but I think the matches are short enough to fit in your pocket. Reception." “Yeah,” I said, balancing my chin on my arm and my elbow on the windowsill. - I think so too. What if the pockets are deeper? Reception. " “I don’t know much about this, but I think it will be difficult for people to get things if you make them very deep.

Reception. “Exactly,” I said, switching hands because one was numb. “What if we came up with a portable pocket?” Reception." “A portable pocket? Reception." – “Yeah. It will be like a sock, but only with Velcro on the outside so that it can be attached to everything. Not quite a bag, because it is still part of the clothes, but not quite a pocket, because it is outside, and also removable, and this has a lot of advantages: firstly, it is easier to shift things from it when you change clothes, and secondly secondly, you can carry large things in it, since you can always unhook the pocket and get them even from the depths. Reception." She put her hand on the side of her nightgown with her heart underneath and said, “That sounds like a hundred dollars. Reception." “A portable pocket will keep many fingers from being burned by short matches,” I said, “and will prevent chapping of the lips due to a short “Chapstick” ^[25] . By the way, why are chocolate bars so small? Have you ever had one meal and didn't feel like it anymore? Reception." “I can’t have chocolate,” she said. “But I understand you perfectly. Reception." “It will be possible to wear long combs in it, so that they are enough for the whole parting at once, and large pockets.” - "Pockets?" - "Pencils for portable pockets." - "Yes Yes". “Big pockets are more comfortable to hold when you have thick fingers like mine, and you could also train rescue birds to use this pocket as a sack.” - "I do not understand". - “If you attach it to bird food life jacket .”

Oscar? Reception." - "I'm fine. Reception." “Why aren’t you sleeping, honey? Reception." - "In what sense? Reception." - "Why are you not sleeping? Reception?" “I miss my dad. Reception." - "Me too. Reception." “I miss him very much. Reception." - "And I. Reception." - "All time. Reception." - "All time. Reception." I couldn't explain to her that I missed him more—more than she, more than anything else, because I couldn't tell her about the phone. This secret was a hole in my heart into which all joy fell. “Did I ever tell you how grandpa would stop and stroke oncoming animals, always, even if he was in a hurry? Reception?" “You told me about this googolplex once. Reception." “And about how his hands were so rough and red from the sculptures that sometimes I told him - jokingly, of course, that it was not he who sculpted the sculptures, but they were his? Reception." “About that too. But you can retell if you want. Reception." She spoke again.

An ambulance drove along the street that separated us, and I introduced who was inside and what happened to him. How he, like, broke his ankle doing a fancy trick on a skateboard. Or how he dies from third-degree burns covering ninety percent of his body.

What if I know him? What if someone looks at this ambulance and thinks that I'm inside?

What if you could make a device that recognizes everyone you know? Then the inscription on the roof of the ambulance traveling down the street could light up:

DON'T WORRY! DON'T WORRY!

if the device of the one inside did not recognize the devices of those outside. And if recognized , then the name of the person inside could light up on the ambulance, and either:

NOTHING SERIOUS!

NOTHING SERIOUS!

or if it's something serious:

THIS IS SERIOUS! THIS IS SERIOUS!

You can also classify everyone you know by how much you love them, and if the device of the one in the ambulance recognized the device of the one he loves the most, or the one who loves him the most , and if the one in the ambulance has a really bad injury and may even die, the ambulance could catch fire:

FAREWELL! I LOVE YOU! GOODBYE!

I LOVE YOU!

It may also be that someone will be the first number on the lists of many people at once, and when he will die, and the ambulance will go through the streets to the hospital, it will constantly burn:

FAREWELL ! I LOVE YOU! GOODBYE!

I LOVE YOU!

“Grandma? Reception?" “What, honey? Reception?" “If grandfather was so good, why did he leave you then? Reception. " She took a half step back and disappeared from view. “He didn't want to leave. He just had to. Reception." – “But why had to? Reception." - "I dont know. Reception." “And you're not angry? Reception." - "On him? Because he left? Reception." - "To myself. For not knowing why. Reception." - "Not. Reception." "And you're not upset? Reception." “I am very upset. Reception." “Don’t switch off,” I said, and ran to my camping kit and grabbed my grandfather’s fotik. I went with him to the window and clicked on her window. The flash illuminated the street that separated us.

10. Walt 9. Lindy 8. Alisha

Grandma said, “I just hope you don't love anyone as much as I love you. Reception."

7. Farley

6. Minch/Tube (equal)

5. Stan

4. Buckminster 3. Mom

I also blew her a kiss.

2. Grandmother

“Hang out,” one of us said.

1. Dad

We need bigger pockets, I thought in bed, waiting for the seven minutes it takes for a normal person to fall asleep. We need huge pockets, big enough to fit our families and our friends and even people who aren't on our lists, strangers we still want to protect. We need pockets for municipal districts and entire cities, pockets that can hold the entire universe.

Eight minutes thirty-two seconds…

But I knew that pockets weren't that big. In the end, everyone will lose everyone. There is no invention to prevent this, and so that night I felt like the very last turtle on which all the rest were held.

Twenty-one minutes, eleven seconds…

Well, I hung the key on a string next to the apartment key and wore it like a necklace.

Well, I myself could not fall asleep for a long, long time. Buckminster curled up next to me, and I conjugated a little so as not to think about anything else.

Je suis

Tues

Il/elle est

Nous sommes

Vousêtes

Ils/elles sont

Je suis

Tues

Il/elle est

nous

I woke up only once during the night because Buckminster put his paws on my eyelids.

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