| War and History Fiction posted March 8, 2022 |
  |
A current situation... past, present, and probably future.
At The Station
by LisaMay
Through the eyes of a child Contest Winner
“Strelka! Strelka!” I call desperately, but he’s jumped out of my arms and disappeared amidst the crowd that is surging along the platform. I couldn’t hold Mama’s hand, my little suitcase, and my pet doggy as well. If I’m not careful I won’t be able to hold Mama’s hand for much longer; it’s freezing cold and I’m going numb.
I’m numb anyway. Fear and upset have turned my bones to lead. I see distress on all the faces around me – my townspeople, my school friends, other relatives. I feel all cried out, but maybe the real crying has just begun. We are losing everything. Homes, churches, schools, businesses, even the medical centres are being bombed.
Our street has been demolished, our home destroyed, our loved ones are being killed. Uncle Georgiy is dead. We don’t know where Baba is. The enormity of the situation is crushing.
Mama’s grip tightens as she hears me calling for Strelka.
“Galyna, my darling child, we must be brave.” She bends down to comfort me. I see exhaustion on her face, and deep pain. Her eyes are haunted. “Your name - Galyna - means ‘a girl who stays calm and quiet in every situation’. I need your strength.”
But I am not strong… or else I would’ve stayed back with my father to fight! I am weak. I couldn’t even keep a hold on my beloved Strelka’s lead. I’m just a frightened little girl who doesn’t understand at all why grown-ups in another country want to kill us and drive us from our homes.
I love my beautiful country. I don’t want to leave. Where will this train take us? One by one I am losing my family. I look around me at the terrified yet subdued crowd at the train station. I have seen this before in history book photos in our city library that is now lying in ruins. I see that I am part of a repeating cycle in the history of man… of hatred, persecution, invasion, death.
War is wrong, but I am proud of my father. Will I ever see him again? I wipe away a tear with my mitten and start to chant: “Slava Ukraini! Heroyam slava.” The voices of the crowd join in. Our chant echoes around the world, growing stronger and louder. Then evaporates into the chill air as a bomb drops on the railway lines. Strelka nuzzles my leg, whimpering.
Note:
“Slava Ukraini! Heroyam slava” is a chant for the Ukrainian people that stems back to the Ukraine war of Independence over a century ago. It has become synonymous with Ukraine's pride. It means “Glory to Ukraine – Glory to the heroes.”
“Strelka! Strelka!” I call desperately, but he’s jumped out of my arms and disappeared amidst the crowd that is surging along the platform. I couldn’t hold Mama’s hand, my little suitcase, and my pet doggy as well. If I’m not careful I won’t be able to hold Mama’s hand for much longer; it’s freezing cold and I’m going numb.
I’m numb anyway. Fear and upset have turned my bones to lead. I see distress on all the faces around me – my townspeople, my school friends, other relatives. I feel all cried out, but maybe the real crying has just begun. We are losing everything. Homes, churches, schools, businesses, even the medical centres are being bombed.
Our street has been demolished, our home destroyed, our loved ones are being killed. Uncle Georgiy is dead. We don’t know where Baba is. The enormity of the situation is crushing.
Mama’s grip tightens as she hears me calling for Strelka.
“Galyna, my darling child, we must be brave.” She bends down to comfort me. I see exhaustion on her face, and deep pain. Her eyes are haunted. “Your name - Galyna - means ‘a girl who stays calm and quiet in every situation’. I need your strength.”
But I am not strong… or else I would’ve stayed back with my father to fight! I am weak. I couldn’t even keep a hold on my beloved Strelka’s lead. I’m just a frightened little girl who doesn’t understand at all why grown-ups in another country want to kill us and drive us from our homes.
I love my beautiful country. I don’t want to leave. Where will this train take us? One by one I am losing my family. I look around me at the terrified yet subdued crowd at the train station. I have seen this before in history book photos in our city library that is now lying in ruins. I see that I am part of a repeating cycle in the history of man… of hatred, persecution, invasion, death.
War is wrong, but I am proud of my father. Will I ever see him again? I wipe away a tear with my mitten and start to chant: “Slava Ukraini! Heroyam slava.” The voices of the crowd join in. Our chant echoes around the world, growing stronger and louder. Then evaporates into the chill air as a bomb drops on the railway lines. Strelka nuzzles my leg, whimpering.
Note:
“Slava Ukraini! Heroyam slava” is a chant for the Ukrainian people that stems back to the Ukraine war of Independence over a century ago. It has become synonymous with Ukraine's pride. It means “Glory to Ukraine – Glory to the heroes.”
|
Writing Prompt Write a short story (100-500 words). The story must include a child's perspective of an object or situation. The story may be told from the viewpoint of the child, or an adult. |
Through the eyes of a child Contest Winner |
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. LisaMay All rights reserved.
LisaMay has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
