Honcharov Oleksandr, 17 years old

Winner of the 2024 essay contest, 2st place

VSP "Zaporizhzhia Electrotechnical Vocational College" NU "Zaporizhzhia Polytechnic"

Teacher who inspired to write an assay - Ulianenko Ilona Serhiivna

 

«1000 days of war. My way»

War. On February 24, 2022, it tore my childhood apart with its black, cruel claws. You see, it simply died. This horror trampled on comfort, destroyed the most cherished plans and dreams, forced me to grow up quickly.

Morning. I'm going to school, but I don't go, because my mother, with tears in her eyes and some kind of eerie trembling in her voice, said: "Son, the war has begun." I could not understand how this could happen in the modern world.

Fragments of films that once transported me to the events of World War II appeared before my eyes; terrible shots of bombing, many wounded and killed people, blood, screams, groans and ruin everywhere. I imagined that my native Zaporizhzhia was receiving incurable wounds, burns, being destroyed by the predatory paws of war. A minute - and a sticky deep fear took hold of me, my sick heart began to beat even faster.

What should we do now? How much time do we have left? A few minutes, a day or a week?

And suddenly there was a sharp, unbearable sound that didn’t want to stop. Apparently, this is how the destroyed future screams. The first air raid alert. We run to shelter. Life is already raging around it: many people with tears in their eyes, children and adults with frightened animals, some things. The school basement – ​​a small room for 400 people sheltered about 1,500 residents of Zaporizhzhia on that terrible day, emaciated, ready to run for their lives to save the most precious thing – life.

Breathing is difficult. A baby is screaming in the woman’s arms, other small children join in. I look: an elderly man I don’t know is trying to sit down at an old desk. I think… he’s so old, maybe he’s seen World War II and is trying to survive again.

And someone next to me is constantly reading the news on their phone, nervously switching from one website to another. My mother is on duty in the shelter, helping people, trying to support everyone, but I see that she herself needs support. She leads people in small groups to the toilet at school. Then my heart contracts: what if the shelling starts and she doesn’t have time to return to the shelter? I can’t lose her! Despair and pain take me hostage again.

This went on for several days. It’s especially hard at night. The sound breaks the silence, makes me get up from my warm bed and jump out into the darkness of the night front-line city.

I go to my grandmother, because she has her own house with a basement. I’m alone, because my parents are working. With some treacherous trembling, I say goodbye to them, hug them tightly, I can’t stop the flurry of emotions. Tears come to my eyes.

What if I’m saying goodbye to them forever? Maybe we’ll never meet again? I hug my mother even tighter.

I always feel good at my grandmother’s. A private house offers many possibilities. Suddenly, there is a loud sound, it's an EXPLOSION! It feels like it's right next to me. The ground groaned under my feet, acrid smoke filled the air. We hurriedly descend to the basement. A new test begins. Have you ever been in a damp old basement? It's not at all designed for long stays.

There's not enough space, it's hard to breathe, and allergies immediately come back to haunt me. A week passed like this - explosions, air raid alerts, a damp basement day and night. Enough, I'm going home!

Dad joins the ranks of the Armed Forces of Ukraine to defend our country. And six months later, terrible news – he disappeared in the Donetsk direction. I can’t accept it! How? He couldn’t leave us!

Every evening my soul cries bitterly. I try to hold on and believe that our Hero will return.

1000 days of war. The fierce enemy is shelling our city almost every day. Now the GBUs are destroying the homes of peaceful residents, taking the lives of children and adults. Half-destroyed houses with empty eyes of broken windows flaunt the cabinets, mirrors, icons that survived the shelling, as if proving our invincibility once again.

My childhood is dead, but I am ALIVE in front-line Zaporizhzhia! Now I am a volunteer.

Together with others, I bring victory closer every day, unload fabric, weave camouflage nets for our defenders, organize gathering of necessary things for displaced persons, pack humanitarian aid. And I am waiting for my father to return.

My path is difficult, but important. We will endure and win. Glory to Ukraine! Glory to the heroes!