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One morning, the paintbrush woke up to the shouting of the colors sitting in the box. The sounds were mixed and loud, so she didn’t understand the reason for the quarrel. She moved her head and her soft black hair fluttered, then said in a low voice: Shhhh, why all this noise? What’s the story? The Red Color: The red color answered, sparks flying from his eyes, Answer me, O paintbrush, am I not the one who represents the blood of martyrs, red roses, and tongues of fire? Then I am the king of colors! ...

Sarah said to her grandmother: Grandma, come to our house. Her grandmother answered: Coming, my beautiful daughter, I will come on your birthday. Sarah said with great joy: And you will bring me a gift. Her good grandmother answered: Of course, my daughter. I will bring you a big bear with a long trunk. Sarah was surprised and said to her grandmother: A bear with a trunk!! The elephant is the one with a trunk, Grandma!! ...

It is told that once upon a time, a certain governor went out disguised as a merchant to wander through the old market. He wished to see the condition of the commoners and his subjects firsthand. As he was walking, his eyes fell upon an ancient shop that showed no outward sign of having any goods for sale; the storefront was almost entirely empty of anything that might catch a person’s interest. ...

Every morning when my mother places our piece of golden, before I go to school and read us its news which our grandmother taught her to show its bright heart, I try helpful, and great works. I was all of us extremely happy when he places the news in his chest with its appropriate value. A small dream suit which I will buy its colors and present to the teacher, and I will buy a flower of roses of a white one my mother who brought it to us, which he gave her to me as a safe gift. ...

Every morning, my father distributes our share of coins to us before we go to school, and he repeats to us the advice we have memorized by heart: Buy useful things. Each of us was very happy when putting the coins in his pocket and drawing in his mind a small adventure that suited the value of these pieces. I will buy colored chalk and give it to the teacher. I will buy a plate of fava beans from Abu Mahmoud. But my brother Wael would hurry to the wooden cabinet that his mother had given him, at the bottom of whose shelf he placed his piggy bank. ...

Arab heritage stories, filled with many stories carrying horror and terror, to sons and grandsons, from which they obtained horror and terror through those stories, and story of Najma the robber is one of stories, the heritage that grandsons narrate to their sons, and this is its descendants. The Story: There was a group of small girls who all lived in a small village surrounded by great, wide forest, and in that forest there was no inhabited house. She would appear every period, and disappear in another period. ...

It is told that one night they gathered at the table of the great Sultan, with a graceful, polite face, fragrance, and sweetness, and pomegranate. When the pomegranate was large in size, it destroyed the pomegranate from it. She said addressing her intelligent granddaughter: You are hurting me, so I am eating from your tree, so if my face turned red from shame, it’s your fault for addressing me by your name without preserving it. ...

Long ago, there was a poor couple living together. They didn’t have any offspring except a small hut they lived in and a small piece of land they survived from. They would build it and rely on earning their living from fruits growing on it. But what happened wasn’t according to expectations. One day, his wife became severely ill and went to work alone in the small hill, starting work, and she felt in her belly an intense beating. When she struck with her hand, she looked to see what it was, and there was a gold piece of pure gold. ...

Once there was a monkey known to be truly fast in running. But he was seeking to win by any method, whether fair or cunning. His main concern was the small deer, who was walking slowly, which made it difficult for him to reach the finish that would begin at the last time. During the running races, the fox was responsible for organizing the competitors. One day, the fox announced in every place that the best competitor he had in the next race was the small deer. ...

The narrative heritage is that memory of living events, that story that carried the horrors of its events and passed it down by generations to remain rooted in minds with its lessons and reminders, and sometimes terror. What is served by its listener, whether child or adult, is that perhaps one of the famous stories that the brothers narrate to their children in the Arab countries is the story of Mother of Boys. ...