Trofymliuk Kseniia, 16 years old

Winner of the 2024 essay contest, 1st place

Kherson Multidisciplinary Lyceum No. 20 of the Kherson City Council

Teacher who inspired to write an assay - Zavodianna Olena Illivna

 

«1000 days of war. My way»

I can’t ask what for is this all happening, because I know it’s not my fault. I first heard the air raid siren as a thirteen-year-old girl. The war didn’t knock on the door of our lives, we didn’t wait for it to come; without asking anyone, it burst in and wiped out everything we had.

The full-scale invasion affected everyone, regardless of their position or location. But the experience I had wasn’t the constant roar of sirens and sitting in shelters, it was the plot of a thriller book.

On February 23, 2022, I went to bed imagining ​​how the quarantine would end next week and I would finally be able to see my friends, not even thinking that this would be my last peaceful night. The next morning was the most terrible in my life. Inner peace and harmony shattered into small fragments.

I no longer knew what awaited me today and tomorrow. My life turned into the world of a computer game with survival mode.

The russians entered the city. I still remember how they drove past my house and hit the neighbouring one from a tank. I was thrown out of bed by a shock wave. It seemed that the armoured combat vehicle was driving not on asphalt, but my feelings. The occupiers did not come with peace and goodness, on the contrary, they brought rage, fear and terror.

An apocalypse was taking place in Kherson. Empty store shelves, lack of medicine, long lines and rush. The humanitarian catastrophe lasted not a day, but two months. It doesn’t seem like long, right? Until you feel it yourself.

The city of happy people moved back in time, when you had to carry heavy bags of food, buy milk by the bottle and roast chickens at home (I will never forget the stench that spread throughout the apartment) in order to survive. It still didn’t sink in that I had been deprived of the carefree moments of life.

It was as if I was running barefoot, fast and free, but suddenly, without seeing the cliff, I fell into hell.

I will never go to school again, I will never see it again… Our primary school was completely burned down when a russian shell hit it. It would have been 209 years old, and only ruins remained. I had no strength to study, but I did not give up. I was overcome by stress and fatigue. I slept three hours a day and dreamed only of one thing - to return to the past.

The days spent under occupation felt like being kept in a dark, damp basement with mould on the walls and humid air. The sun no longer caressed my skin with its rays, it was covered by grey clouds, and I felt a prickly frost on my cheeks.

I remember when snow fell on March 8, and I, sitting on the windowsill, cried not from sadness, but from pain, because everything could have been different. On this day, my parents and I were supposed to walk through the colourful streets of Istanbul, but reality doesn’t care about your plans, it doesn’t ask if you like it or not, leaving only one way out for humanity – to adapt.

The Russians started going from door to door and take people hostage.

Having packed our entire lives into our suitcases, we decided to leave Kherson. I will never forget that day. It’s four in the morning. I leave the apartment, as always, and turn around to look at it one last time. I always did this before a trip. But this time everything was different.

Instead of the joy there was hope that we wouldn’t be shot, the suitcases packed not for a week, but for a lifetime. It’s hard to believe, but we had to pass seventy-six checkpoints and spend fourteen hours on the road. Yes, I counted.

When I saw the Ukrainian flag, tears rolled down my cheeks. Now we are in a place where will reigns, not soulless people. I believe that sooner or later this horror will come to an end and we will paint flowers of happiness around the bullet holes.