(essay)

It was five in the morning. My father, mother, brother, me and my two sisters went to the bus station. From it, there was a bus to our village, to the front. My village is near Kyiv. The next village was under occupation. The enemy was held back by our soldiers, a blown up bridge and a river overflowing in the spring.

Dad went there today. We could not go to see him off, but everyone wanted to be with him. We all wanted to go with him at all. My brother, sister Sasha and I also wanted to fight. But we couldn’t. When we approached the bus, everyone wanted to get on it. But my father strictly ordered everyone to be here, to take care of each other and our mother. We all hugged my father in turn. I looked at the bus, a murky stranger was looking at us. He grimaced and turned away.

When Dad got on the bus, we all waved, turned around and left the bus stop…

Then there was a silent picture. Everyone followed the path one by one. Everyone was silent keeping on crying. None of us have cried since the beginning of the war. We have been strong so far. No one wanted to admit that she was crying. My family is stubborn and proud, everyone knows that. So alone, but together we got home. Now, as I write this, no one is asleep. We can not. Although only six in the morning. There is silence and the smell of tears is in the air.

None of us knew if God really exists. But everyone prayed that everything would be fine with our Father and Ukraine.

“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name…”