Set against the backdrop of Ukraine’s ongoing conflict, my short story and flash fiction explore familial discord, inner turmoil and emotional complexities faced by individuals amidst the chaos and uncertainty of the war in Ukraine. I moved to the UK due to the full-scale war in Ukraine. Hailing from the Donetsk region, the war began for me in 2014 and has followed me since I moved to Kyiv after. Now living in Scotland, I believe it is my duty to share my own experiences, as well as those of my friends and family, and raise awareness. It makes my heart ache when I am seeing what is happening in Gaza right now, but it upsets me how quickly people forget about the ongoing War in Ukraine and that people are still dying and suffering, losing their homes there.

Flash Fiction

When the war had started in earnest, it was almost a relief. I always had so many doubts, endless existential thoughts about the future and purpose. I didn’t know what to do with my life. Now, nobody knew. 

Sometimes I wished the zombie apocalypse would start instead. Anyway, it’s easier. You know what you have to do, how exactly you can help. Who must die and who you should protect. Just like during the war, right? We always have a clear enemy and if they invade your territory, you don’t really have a choice. Well, be careful what you wish for.

I was at home with my mom when it happened. We huddled in the basement, listening to the sound of the bombs falling and wondering if we would ever see the sun again. Some were killed in bombings or shootings, while others simply vanished, never to be seen again. We lived in constant fear, never knowing when the next attack would come or if we would survive it. It was as if the end of the world had started, and we were in survival mode.

My close friend was in Mariupol when the bombing started. Initially, the russians threw almost all their forces into destroying this city, as it was located near the Azov Sea and was strategically important for them. He and his family were trapped underground for days, with no food or water. He has diabetes and they were unable to get the insulin he needed just to stay alive. His father had to run through the streets under the bombs to find something to eat. 

He told me about a girl whose grandmother couldn’t take it anymore. She jumped from the fifth floor of her building because she was too scared to live in the war. She survived the fall but died in agony a few days later. They had to bury her near the post.

People were gathering there all the dead bodies that were found in the Cheryomushki. Oddly enough, citizens who lived in the building across started to complain about the cemetery in front of their windows. They didn’t want to see dead bodies being buried while they were cooking in the kitchen. Two men even got into a fight over this. 

When they ran out of space at the post office, they had to start burying the bodies in the playground.

Short Story

He wandered nervously around the dimly lit room, its bunk beds looming like walls closing in on him. Nervously, he nibbled at the nails of his left hand, his phone clutched in the other, slipping into sleep mode. The eerie red glow of the solitary lamp danced across his fatigued face with crimson hues. He was only 38, but right now he looked at least ten years older. The faint sounds of artillery fire could be heard in the distance, a stark reminder of the chaos occurring beyond those thin walls, but he seemed completely unperturbed by it. At last, he ventured to dial the number, the long seven beeps echoed through the vast room. Suddenly, a crackling sound was heard on the other end of the line. After two seconds had passed, he spoke in a half-hoarse voice.

“Hi sweetheart, how are you? How do you like London?” he coughed, hoping to dispel the awkwardness.

“I’m alright. Where are you now?” Her cold response barely reached his ears.

“I’m not allowed to tell you, buddy, you know it.” His words hung in the air.

“I’m sorry…”

There was no response; silence consumed the space, but he had expected this.

“How’s mom?” At that moment, he felt as small as an ant, a lump rising in his throat.

“She hasn’t left her room since she found out. For weeks.”

Part of him knew that she was just trying to make him feel guilty. To experience the same pain, she felt. On the one hand, he wanted to shout that it was his duty, he wouldn’t feel like a man just by running away. But was it worth it? To sit in snow-covered trenches for days on end. Eating from food cans, the number and availability of which also depended on volunteers. He was no longer the master of his own life.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what to say. She wouldn’t speak with me; I was hoping maybe you could talk to her?”

He was glad that at least his daughter kept in touch with him. He felt as if his marriage was already broken, even though it began bursting at the seams much earlier. But he desperately needed someone: he longed to bury his head in a familiar shoulder and weep like a child. He yearned for a moment of innocence, to be a child who didn’t understand what was happening around him. Thoughts of his late mother flooded his mind. He had lost her only two years ago, and the pain was still raw. But in a way, he was glad she hadn’t witnessed the whole nightmare. He recalled how his wife had held his hand at the funeral, and how she had embraced him when he finally allowed himself to cry, after two months. How could she just have thrown all those moments away? Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it’s just a temporary blur. He had nothing else but these comforts.

“Why did you lie?”

He saw she was trying to stay cold, but he was happy to hear an echo of interest.

“Oksana, honey, I didn’t. I just wanted to protect you, didn’t want you and mum to worry.”

He remembered the relief he felt when the war started in earnest. He always had so many doubts. Midlife crisis, depression, anxiety. His life was completely normal, many would dream about it. He worked at the finance company, he had a wife and daughter. Yeah, more and more often he slept on the couch in the living room, he knew Oksana noticed it, but what could he do? He was just tired of everything surrounding him. He was only comfortable in the unknown and he wanted to change. He didn’t know what to do with his life. Now, nobody knew.

Sometimes he wished the zombie apocalypse would start instead. As in those horror movies. Anyway, it’s easier. You know what you must do, how exactly you can help. You know who must die and who you should protect. Just like during the war, right? Everything is clear. There is an enemy and if they invade your territory, you don’t really have a choice but to fight. Well, be careful what you wish for.

He remembered the day when it came to Kyiv. Sudden and unexpected. There were no explosions, gunfire, or people running in every direction, which made it feel surreal. He still didn’t know if he truly experienced this fear. Even though the war was already happening in his home region, nothing could have prepared him for this. It is as though you’re in survival mode, with no emotions, no feelings: just an instant thinking.

He remembered the first time he heard the missiles, back in 2014. He was scared, of course, but he didn’t have the right to show it in that situation. It felt as though he was watching a movie and the people dying weren’t real. The shelling, gunfire, and bombs were constant, a part of daily life near their small town in the Donetsk region. Oksana was just 6 years old, so they decided to move to Kyiv. But 8 years later, the war caught up with them there as well.

He felt that he should have been there since it started in 2014, but the responsibility for the family outweighed. His wife reacted in a psychotic manner to even the mention of the Ukrainian armed forces. She always was so codependent, so this reaction wasn’t a surprise for him.

Maybe something was damaged in my brain, he thought. He had no fear, no regrets, no thoughts about the future. To be completely honest, he wasn’t even worried for his family. They would definitely cope. His wife had such an even beauty, especially in the UK it would be appreciated. But he had this constant feeling; he is where he should be. He is where he can be most useful. Now his life had a purpose, he knew he has to sacrifice the most precious for this.

“It’s difficult to explain, you’ll understand later. I just wanted to hear your voice because I don’t know when I can call next time. Mum doesn’t want to speak with me.” He wasn’t trying to invoke her pity for him or manipulate her, he was just desperate. He just hoped they would be able to understand.

“So do I,” the short beeps echoed the walls of the room, falling into rhythm with the artillery shelling.