book (1)

Daria

Yes, war was terrible for everyone, and it is impossible to say what was the worst thing. It was scary every minute, every second, to stupor scary...

It was scary when you fell face down in the hallway of the apartment, closed the head with trembling hands, and the earth was shaking beneath you. It was scary when the projectile broke a gas pipe of the house, and you along with all the residents ran out into the street, praying that the house would not explode, and each room meanwhile was filling with acrid smoke and it became difficult to breathe. It was scary in a dark and damp cellar, where with closed eyes, barely breathing you were listening where the shells were falling. And you were slowly going crazy in this confined space: would strike or would not strike? It was scary, when parents went to the river for water, because there was no water at home any more, and the shells were flying over their heads. First you heard the volleys of "Grad", then the whistle and explosion. In reality that happened in a split second, but in your subconscious they dragged on forever.... It was scary for loved ones. It was scary not to Wake up. It was scary to stupor.

The war which was always something distant and unreal, without asking any of us, came to our house with losses, tears, fear and pain...

14

Natalia

...Blind, deaf, mute city. Out of four hundred residents of an apartment building in the heart of Lugansk about thirty were left. People, who tried to leave, to run away from the war. The feeling of permanent, sticky fear and the total helplessness, some absurd and terrible phantasmagoria, in which you attended by a will of fate. The path almost two kilometers in length into the deep of the private sector where you could get water from the underground wells, became a daily necessity. It was known to the all locals as "the road of life". Everything seemed to stop, the space was bounded by the limits of your own apartment and courtyard, where in the unusually quiet summer evenings the neighbors were going to the crackling sound of the radio, which was mined in the depths of the balcony, to hear the latest news from the "big world". The image of a small quiet angel of our yard was revived in my memory brighter and sharper on the background of overwhelming anxiety and fear, the only one on the whole quarter child who remained in the besieged city. He became our unofficial mascot, the epitome of the fragile pulse of a real life, hope and the answer to the question "what for?", which was so necessary for us then - to survive, to endure , to keep yourself, your home and the most expensive, the most valuable thing in human life.

Julia

During this time, out people, unfortunately, learned to distinguish the sound of "Grad", from similiar sounds of mines, grenades, etc. Sound is so scary - feels like space rockets are flying around me. I never in my life want to hear it again!

At 17.00 the boom was so terrible !!!, It was the worst thing in my life. I sat by the window in the kitchen, in only two steps (some animal instincts woke up in me) I was in the hallway. You can`t confuse whistling of flying mines with anything. Then there was a sharp clap, rupture and explosion. "Flew" in the house next door. The result - 6 apartments are burnt out. The others had not so terrible consequences like crushed windows, balconies, access spans. 2 hours passed ... There is the sound of windows getting nailed under the accompaniment of "explosions" not so far away ... went outside (for the first two days), I went around the house (not completely - only from its face - go far is too dangerous), what he saw - a horrifying sight. Thank God - no one died. There were no people in these apartments: some had left, some were sitting in the cellars. I called my sister (she was in Luhansk on the other side of town), the connection somehow worked - total miracle. Called parents - dad for the first time seriously said, "Get out at every opportunity!". I was scared ... I WANT THE PEACE!!! THE PEACE WILL BE HERE!!! THE PEACE EXISTS!!!

Tatiana

If once someone will ask me if it was terrible in those days in Lugansk, I cannot answer unequivocally. At first it was very scary, horror burnt in the chest. It was very scary to flee to the basement with my sister and the dog Jem, and to hear behind the explosions of shells. It was scary to come out from the basement and expect to see the destroyed home. It was scary to go up to the apartment and to look whether the recumbent mother alive and whether windows were still there.

There were days that have become crucial: these days the center of the city and our block Alekseeva*1 were bombarded particularly active. And, perhaps, at this time the fear was over. Fear crawled off somewhere deep down, even when very close to bursting shell or mine - it does not have time to get out. Yes, my dog Jem had no fear. I thought people quickly get used to the good only. It turned out that people get used to the bad also quickly. Is the time comes and the silence will be constant? But in the afternoon the shelling intensified, and by four o'clock the enemy «Grads*2» "irrigated" our city. Our brave Ukrainian army selflessly directing its guns on the city, where live second-class citizens, that they are not interested in.

Incidentally, the Polish brothers bombarded our block of Czech howitzers. Here I understand European integration in action!!!

Natalia

Mother's eyes, who accompanied me to the last bus out of the town under the bombing , were full of quiet plea "take care of yourself", and a shrill woman's scream in the background, the driver, who was wringing his hands in despair, tall and strong man under the incessant even for a minute fire, he was trying to explain that the short bus was crowded, and it was not able to take more passengers, because there is no way to drive along the sandy country roads...

It's amazing how in the state of maximum psychological stress all the facets of humanity are revealed, shading the fear, pain and hate with the feeling of belonging, of community, of sincerity: the grueling August heat, burning smell, heavy hiking with stuff to the checkpoint on hot sand and help of completely strangers, the only one bottle of the mineral water on the whole bus , which was split between all passengers, and the quiet courage of a young mother with a two year old daughter, to which she was telling tales during the all six hours of the drive, trying to calm, to distract the child...

Vladimir

There Was The Day, when An Old me was Dead.

Me and Grandpa were sitting in the garden THAT day speaking of something and listening to the voice of the street at once. And then I heared the most terrifying sound in my life. Like the plug, that playfully shoots from a bottle of champagne, a bottle at your funeral, and then the whistle developing into some kind of banshee`s scream...

At one moment you get up from the chair, pluck at Granddad`s hand. Windows are torn apart. Ears stop working. Run, seeking for mom and granny. Heading towards the cellar. Everyone has it`s very own role in this act of escaping the death: someone is taking the warm clothing, another taking lighters (because, you may easily break your neck getting down the stairs without the electricity, which, should I say, has been absent for many days already). One more Blast. Plaster is falling down.

Praying. Praying. Praying. Trying to calm down parents and, if possible, myself. The third shot. This already annoying squeal. Boom, the Blast. So close. Waiting for ten minutes, then leaving the cellar. Firstly, I need to look around. Secondly, I inspect the whole house. Thanks God, We keep windows opened 24 hours a day, if not this, we wouldn`t have our windows already. And the third thing to do is to help parents to leave the cellar, because it`s safe upstairs. For a While.

Running to the street and there you see...

Smoke, neighbor barely runs with the blood all over her face. My mother runs after iodine, bandages. Volodya and me keep going to a neighbor's house, at first glimpse we see the hole in the roof from 1.5 to 2 meters at least. The wreckage, strewn pieces of garden roofs, windows smashed, everything is broken in all means of this word. And smell. The smell of buringn, rotten pears, and something else. Something disgusting and vile ...

Coming in. Tyotya Olya, another neighbor is crying. It is the home of her sister. She points out to another side of the room. The roof and the ceiling are laying on the floor. I mean, what`s left of them.

We climb, there, looking, seeking for Tyotya Luda, the sister of Tyotya Olga. I can`t see anything. Behind the door, we find the dog alive, but badly hit by the blast. A man who does not know us, just who was walking along the street and who has come to help, takes the dog to take care of her. Searching: staircase behind on the floor, suddenly, it`s going up and down. Getting rid of it as soon as possible. We find another dog, trying to raise one, and under it we see a growing stain of blood. "We can`t help her," - says Dyadya Volodya. Just can`t find Tyotya Luda. We think, thank God, She has gone before the explosion. And then I see a hand, a wrist, torn, charred, bloody. Leg seems without feet. And the face. It's hard to watch, I can`t watch...

The people of different streets around are going to offer their help. No one comes - no ambulance or the police. Who knew that the ambulance would arrive in half an hour, and state the fact: "Dead." Who knew that the next day I would have to photograph the corpse of a woman, which we knew for my whole life, for forensic examination. Who knew that a corpse would be lying there for the following 3 days in the heat, untill a mortuary, finally, wouldn`t not send a car. Who knew it would be just the beginning?

Tatiana

How can I describe my emotions at the sight of the dying Man of 22 - 23 years old, who lost his leg, in which words to describe his gray face and eyes filled with mist of death? I ran in the MOE to inform about him, hoping for a miracle, but two hours later I saw him and his face was covered with a jacket. He lay in a neighboring yard more than a day ... There were no documents with him. A handsome young boy! His relatives found him in the morgue.

Yesterday, the mother of the deceased neighboring yard guy came to me. It turns out that all this time she was looking for him. He was 31 years old, his mother was a doctor. He was buried without relatives. God grant that she will found his grave. She prayed to show the place where he laid. I remembered him, and since then I always remember his face and his eyes, as if they were flecked with ash...

Now I always take my passport with me. Even if I go to buy bread, I put it in a file and hide in the bag. There I also put a small icon of the Mother of God. Necessarily, I wear comfortable shoes in case if I would have to run. Passport is for identification, I do not want to lie as an unidentified body in the morgue...

I do wonder how I'm still not broken. If you imagine me visually, I am Like The Wolf from «Well, Just You

Wait!», who decided to raise the cross-bar. I hold it, and the fate adds more new weighting. I sway from side to side, my spine bend, but somehow it don‟t “strew” in the pants. Let us count these weightings:

1.Reclining mother, who does not understand anything.

2.The nurse, hit by a car.

3.The lack of salaries and any cash receipts.

4.Power outages and interruptions in the water supply.

5.The absence of any connection.

6.The necessity twice a day to go to my aunt on the 10th floor, to wash her and try to feed her (and this is against the backdrop of attacks).

7. Brocken windows in my friend‟s apartment that need to be repaired.

8.The double two. Again, the same windows are broken.

9.The shelling of block Alexeyeva, during which my sister and dog Jem were nearly hit, they managed to run to the basement.

10.The death of the aunt, who had to be buried like a normal person, which is practically impossible.

11.The glass around the city and plenty of wild dogs, which complicates the walking Jem.

Everything else is fine spray.

And, oddly enough, I still hold the cross-bar. So, I have the spine stronger than I thought.

1* Nu, pogodi! (Russian: Ну, погоди!, Well, Just You Wait!) is a

Soviet/Russian animated series produced by Soyuzmultfilm.