David Antonyan is 15, and is his family's sole provider. He collects bottles near his home in Abovyan and every day makes the 20 kilometer trip to Yerevan to sell them for money to feed his family.

The Antonyans - David, his 12-year old sister Marine and their mother, Karine - are refugees from Azerbaijan. The Antonyans left Baku in 1989 when it no longer became safe for Armenians to live in Azerbaijan.

In the evening when the shadows thicken, the voices lapse into silence and the cold becomes unbearable, an uneven tap can be clearly heard in the basement of a high-rise building in Yerevan.

Marlena Yeremyan, 42, is carefully moving from one part of the room to another. The noise is from the stick in her hand. She uses it to protect her children from rats.

The Babayan family doesn't know how it will heat its apartment this winter. In other years they've been able to save money from the monthly budget of 23,500 drams (about $42) for winter needs, but not this year.

Sixty-four year old Marat Babayan and his three daughters Nazeny, Arpine and Varsenik live in their three room apartment on the outskirts of Yerevan. Varsine, who has been in fragile health all her life has been more sick over the past year and medicines have been costly.

She is skinny, shrunken, with eyes like a frightened bird. Through childishly incoherent speech interrupted by sobs, she is trying to find the right words to tell her story . . .

"I was scared to go back home. I was afraid he would kill me," she finally bursts out and becomes silent, making clear that the story has finished.

In a Yerevan hospital, 26-year old Laura Yeritsyan faced a decision motherhood could not prepare her for. Her child, and, significantly, the family's first boy, would die within 10 days, doctors told her.

She had just given birth to Hayk, her fourth child. Datev, Anahit and Gayane were age 9, 8 and 2 and healthy. Laura and her husband Vartan wanted a son, but when their wish was granted, the child they got was born with severe problems. Specifically, the baby was born with a cleft lip and a hole in his palate.

The bright-faced teenager uses her toes to bring a fire starter to the gas stove. Then she uses her toes to open the gas and light a flame for making coffee, which she serves with a smile.

Mary Mezhlumyan is 18, and for the past 10 years has had to find ways of daily existence far different from others. Almost everyone in her town of Kapan (about 320 kilometers south of Yerevan) knows something about survival. Mary knows more than most.

When the door to their room opens the children of Qanaqer-Zeitun orphanage look with anticipation, as if any adult could be the one who has come to take them home.

Two year old Vahan runs forward and warmly hugs a woman who has come to visit, kissing her and patting her face. One of the other children asks: "Are you going to take him home?"

It is not often that the question is answered affirmatively.

Eleven year old Vigen, school bag on his back, was running after other kids, screaming at them in Noyemberyan dialect: "Hey, kids go away, don't enter."

The boy runs till his cheeks are red and sweat shines on his forehead, acting as the unofficial security guard of St. Sargis Church.

"We live in this district. Vigen watches that nobody enters the church and vandalizes whatever is left," says Vigen's mother, 31 year old Voskehat, who sells candles at the church.

A few teenage boys and women sit together in a room where a yellow light shines on their attempts at creating art. Their hands are buried in clay, and when the task is finished they will admire their work and marvel that they could become artists.

This is the Abovyan Prison for Women and Juveniles. And for the past two years, the non governmental organization (NGO) Trtu has turned the lockup into a sort of art colony for criminals.

Like plenty teenagers, 15-year old Aram Baghdasaryan of Gyumri is happy when his family goes to bed, and he gets the television to himself. For Aram, TV is a window to an unknown world - tempting, and a little scary.

Aram turns down the volume. For him the sound is useless and irritating. He has been deaf and dumb since he was six months old - since December 7, 1988 when Gyumri (then Leninakan) became famous because of its deadly earthquake.

Vahan Abrahamyan is a cordial and enthusiastic host when guests visit. His wife Mari Karidjyan offers coffee and sweets, as is expected in each Armenian home.

Vahan and Mari are newlyweds. He is 77 years old and she is 72.

They married last year in a place in which many elderly never expected to find themselves.