Моя жизнь разделена на две части: научные исследования в области политологии и литература. Пишу поэзией и прозой, но больше увлекаюсь короткими рассказами, нежели многостраничными романами. Люблю путешествия, яркие краски и животных. С ними я гораздо быстрее нахожу общий язык.
My life is divided in two parts: scientific researches in political science and literature. I write in poetry and prose, but I like more short stories than multipage novels. I love journeys, bright colours and animals, especially dogs. I find an understanding with latter easier than with humans.
Short story “We’ll be alive”
«We call all inhabitants of Donetsk and Luhansk to avail themselves of the humanitarian corridor and to leave cities. A general offensive by the Ukrainian armed forces is expected… »
«Gunmen continue to fire upon the residential areas of Luhansk. Kindergartens and schools are destroyed. Be attentive: rebels leave mines behind…»
«Donetsk is on the verge of the environmental and humanitarian disaster. There is not enough fresh water. People are waiting in queues starting with seven a.m. to buy some bread …»
«The refugees in large quantities escape from the invaded territories. The total number of the internal refugees has reached 300 thousand people…»
…Annushka had to leave the house with her parents in a hurry. There was not traditional «Let’s sit before the long journey», no prayer before an icon. Her mother Olga Sergeevna was hastily filling carrier bags with the belongings: documents, pair of shirts, one or two dresses and money. Scant remains but so it went. The father, Grigoriy Ivanovich, was hurrying his «little girls» with dissatisfied hails over and over again: new echelons with soldiers and military equipment have already arrived to the neighboring village located on the distance of 100 km from them. There is another «humanitarian» escort with grenades, automatic rifles and cartridges. Time was running out: they had to catch the bus to Kharkiv as there was peace, there was no shooting, children went to school and spent nights in comfortable beds there but not in the cellars. It was strange as it was one country but people had different lives.
The city was occupied. It was not surrounded with trenches or barbed wire, all roads remained open. But where to go?… People were afraid to be out: a wrong move and you will be blown up by a mine. Shelves in shops were striking with their emptiness. You could find there only the sea cabbage and Korean carrot salad. But inhabitants did not despond. The war rallied these people of the devastated future. People made the acquaintance of the neighbors not only from one landing but also from nearby high-rise buildings. In the evenings everyone met to a sandpit, kindled fire from the wood boards of the blown up shed and organized dinner. The leftovers were taken out of refrigerators and cellars without any regret: pickles, potatoes, even stale bread. People learned to be grateful for small favors, they learned to wait quietly. Silent calm substituted former violent tears and sobbing. Many gradually got accustomed to the war. It seemed it always was like this: living waiting for another bombing, for dessert there were crackers and glass of pure, not service water. And the infinite desert of the city opened around, parsecs of empty, especially after six in the evening. Perhaps, human hearts simply subsided from bitterness and hopelessness.
The war made people change views on a lot of things including the time. Yes, these abandoned people could be sure only in minutes. A day for them is a very long interval of life. But they were glad to manage to take out their children on time, that «our guys» little by little but advance, that in cellars «still there were ten jars with tomatoes, so we will hold out». Of course, they lost accommodation, job, but hands and legs are okay, so everything can be restored. «It is useful to start from scratch both for mind and for body», – significantly declared Victor Iosifovich, the teacher of history of the destroyed classical school № 46…
After firing there were only heaps of bricks and splintered stones from the conservatory and the circus, streets were burned down together with trees. It was so strange as sparrows have recently chattered here, foliage has rustled, passersby have clamoured, and at night guitars have dissonantly strummed on the bench. The head was splitting because of continuous whistle of shells, and the girl could distinctly remember the sleepless nights spent in a cold and damp cellar. Then Anya did not make any single sound. She hoped that in silence she will not be noticed by a shell and it will speed past. She animated it, endowed with intellect and refused to believe that people could kill other people. The haze came into eyes, there was rumble in ears. All sounds are remote as if you are swimming deep under the water. Sometimes it seemed to her that it was just a dream. Now she will cry the mother will come running from the next bedroom, will sit down at a head of the bed and will say: «You just had the nightmare. Calm down, I am here». But her mother is side by side now, sitting on a wooden stool and stroking her hair, but a bad dream still does not come to the end.