May 6, 2022  #Antytvir: Polina Karpova, Kateryna Belytska, Dominika Doktor

Flash essays from the collection “Wars. Ukrainians. Humanity” tell about the insights, experiences, and beliefs of Ukrainians, that ignited their society in 2022, when the full-scale russian invasion of Ukraine began.

The Cultural Hub community and curators carefully collected, translated, and illustrated these texts to capture the values ​​of Ukrainians — Freedoms, Bravery, Dignity, Responsibility, and Humour.

A series of publications in partnership with Chytomo introduces this collection to the English-speaking audience. Volume 16 continues to present the series. You can get acquainted with the previous collection here.

These essays were written in 2022 for Antytvir, a writing contest for teens. It is an educational project by Mystetskyi Arsenal at the International Book Arsenal Festival. Its goal is to promote creative writing among high school students and create a platform for expressing yourself in a non-standard way. The organizers designed this project in 2020 and 2022 to support Ukrainian youth in highly stressful situations by allowing them to write and make their voices heard. Cultural Hub translated into English, illustrated, and added these texts to the “Wars. Ukrainians. Humanity” programme as a special series of wartime writings.

Polina Karpova, 13 years old
Importance

There is no orthodoxy, politics, or monarchy in this world. All your life is predetermined by the number on your neck that everybody gets at the age of 16. Fate decides everything. There is only one law:

People with numbers from 1 to 3 are “slaves,” those with numbers from 4 to 7 are the “most ordinary,” and those with numbers from 8 to 9 are the “chiefs.” All in all, there are 10 numbers, but, unfortunately, the last person with the highest number died 5 years ago. That person was called the “Creator” — the one who rules the world. And there are also people with the number “0.” They are killed right away, under the rule, but for no reason.

All children are told to do good things, to deal with charity and to keep away from the “chiefs,” certainly, if these are not their parents.

***

Milana:

— Mom, where are you going?

Mom:

— I am already late for my work. It’s 8 a.m., and I should be there at 10 a.m. I will rush, bye, my dear.

Milana:

— That is still 2 hours left, mom! Fine. Well, I will also go.

An ordinary family. The dad and the mom are at work from morning till night and come home just to sleep there, and their daughter does not see them at all. Ordinary people who should work to earn their living. Milana will already be 16 in a week’s time. When she was a child, she did a lot of good things, and she still helps walking with dogs as charity.

School:

Carl:

— Hi, beauty. And someone’s birthday is coming. I have already prepared a present for you.

Milana:

— Cool! I cannot wait to learn about my importance. I worked a lot in my childhood as my parents taught me, and I think I deserve number 6 or 7. I want to transfer to your class of ordinary people and stay closer to you.

Carl:

— I have been in this class for a week already. It’s great that the age difference is so small with us. I am already waiting for you.

After school the girl went home, as always. Having some meals, she decided to switch on the news: Welcome, citizens. Today there is the first system failure in our world. All the “chiefs” have got their number fallen down to 1. Police are already looking for a person with number 10, who has got the only access to disposal of importance. Yours, Hot News program.

Milana:

— I hope this failure will not affect my importance. Let me look it up on the Internet.

No information … Maybe, that has happened for the first time. Well, let us hope that will quickly be fixed.

***

5 days passed. People were in panic, police had not found a person with the importance of 10, more than a half of the chiefs became slaves.

Mom:

– Milana, do you remember that tomorrow is your day? They say that the system will not affect your importance. You are a nice girl, and tomorrow you will become one of us. Sweet dreams.

***

In the morning the girl happily approached the mirror to see her importance:

Milana:

— What? That cannot be true … Mom!

Mom:

— Happy birthday, darling! What is your level of importance?

Milana:

— I have got 0…

Mom:

— Oh Lord! You need to quickly cover it up. Don’t tell anyone that you have got this number. I will now draw 6 for you.

Nobody in school guesses that the number was just drawn.

***

The next day.

Woman-inspector:

— Children, make a queue and enter the room one by one.

Milana: “They may now find out that I have got 0 and will kill me. I need to get out of here.”

The moment Milana tried to go to the bathroom, she was not let go. It was her turn.

Milana:

— What are you going to do?

Medical nurse:

— Don’t worry, we will just wash your neck with the solution that uncovers all paints and cosmetics … Oh no … Inspector, that is she! She has got 10!

Woman-inspector:

— Everyone, leave us. I will talk to this girl myself. I know that you have got your importance only since yesterday. How did you manage to transform the whole world into chaos before the appearance of the number?

Milana:

— I don’t know. This morning I had number 0.

Woman-inspector:

— That is, certainly, bad that you have been hiding number 0, but now that is no longer of importance. Thus, the “Creator” has chosen you as the second one, and, most probably, you know him. We need to check all your near and dear people and all your acquaintances. I hope you will help us with this and you will not be like the first “Creator”?

Milana:

— Yes, I certainly will.

After going to the girl’s place and checking her parents, they did not find the villain.

Woman-inspector:

— Whom else do you closely communicate with?

Milana:

— I have a boyfriend — Carl. He is the closest person to me. And some girlfriends from school, but I don’t communicate with them a lot.

On coming to Carl’s place, they did not find him there, though his parents also thought that he was in his room. On coming there, they found that the boy was not there. Just the wind was waving the curtains from the open window.

Milana:

— He has escaped, but don’t worry. I know where he can possibly be. Carl often stays on the roof of his friend’s house. Let me show you.

The inspector and the girl went to the roof of the building not far from school. Few people have been there, and Milana entered it for the first time as well. Carl used to go there only on his own to have some rest from everyone and to relax in solitude.

On going up, they saw how the boy was disposing of the number of importance of one boy with figure 9 that he changed into 1.

Woman-inspector:

— Hands up! I am an inspector, and I have got a gun. Hands up and turn back, quick!

Carl:

— Ok, ok… Milana? Why have you given me away? I appointed you as the second creator for us to be ruling this world together, why have you done this?

Milana:

— You have made many silly things by changing people’s numbers of importance. You have become a criminal, first of all, and I also thought that was not you. Why have you done all this and why have you been lying to me?

Carl:

— I have not, I just failed to tell you. These rules and numbers of importance are absolute nonsense since many people do not deserve such an attitude, for example: good and innocent are called slaves, while arrogant and heartless are the chiefs. Judge on your own: let everyone have equal rights to life rather than everything should depend on the number on your neck.

Milana:

— I… I don’t know what to say.

Woman-inspector:

— Don’t tell nonsense, o boy, everything was planned before you, and now you are spoiling everything.

Carl:

— Oh inspector, this is how you speak now! I studied everything to become the creator. Don’t you feel ashamed of telling such peaceful citizens such nonsense for so many years? It is you and your subordinates that killed the first “Creator” five years ago since he also wanted to make everyone equal. You liked and still like having number 9 since you have got privileges and servants, that is why you have invented this. Milana, do you agree to my proposal?

Woman-inspector:

— That’s enough! Oh boy, you know too much, and I do not feel ashamed since my comfort is more important for me, and I don’t care about the others! You have just walked right into that!

Milana attacked the inspector and a gunshot could be heard. The bullet passed by the body, and when they fell, the gun slipped aside. They started fighting as two cats, but the woman hit Milana’s head against the floor. Then Carl picked up the gun. When the inspector stood up, he directed the weapons at her. The woman used to work in the police, that is why she quickly knocked the gun out of the boy’s hands. She placed the boy on the edge of the roof, unbalanced, keeping him in her hand, and if she let him go, he would fall down. Milana started recovering.

Woman-inspector:

— Oh, you have recovered. Quickly make me the “Creator”, otherwise your boyfriend will die!

Carl:

— No! Don’t do this! Please!

Milana:

— I don’t want you to die, I will make you the “Creator” in a moment.

Woman-inspector:

— Right! Finally!

Milana:

— And now give Carl to me.

Woman-inspector:

— Did you really think I would do that? Say goodbye to him.

Carl:

— Milana, cancel the importance of all people, you will find out how to do this, I love you!

The boy took the inspector by the hand, and they fell from the roof together.

Milana:

— Noooo!

Carl and the woman-inspector perished on falling from the 15th floor.

***

Carl:

— Where am I?

Medical nurse:

— Oh my God! You have recovered! You… you are in the central hospital, in the resuscitation ward. We have made you come back from the nether world, though the chances were only 10%.

Carl:

— What is my name, and why am I in hospital?

Medical nurse:

— Wait a moment, someone will come up to you.

Doctor:

— Hi, Carl. You have been staying here for a year and a half. We did not even expect that you would recover since you fell from the 15th floor and got a major head injury and internal haemorrhages.

Carl:

— Remind me: who am I?

Doctor:

— That’s what I expected. Well, have some rest.

The doctor called the boy’s parents, and they quickly came to the hospital. Milana also got to know the news. She was extremely happy and also rushed to her boyfriend.

Milana:

— Good afternoon, how is he?

Carl’s mom:

— He feels good, but does not remember us. Most probably, he will not recall you either. Doctors say that this is temporary, that is why it will be necessary to familiarize him with reality.

Milana:

— Hi, Carl. How are you?

Carl:

— Hi. I’m fine, and who are you?

Milana:

— I am your girlfriend, Milana. You saved the world and me. Don’t you remember?

Carl:

— No. But you are pretty, and you have a nice name.

Milana:

— Thank you.

Carl:

— And what did I do?

Milana:

— You saved the world and me. You took this damned importance away from all people and made us equal.

Carl:

— What kind of importance?

Milana:

— It does not matter now. Have some rest.

— Doctor, how can he recall everything if he forgets my name within minutes?

Doctor:

— Oh girl, I don’t know. It requires a lot of work and communication about the past, for his memories to come back to him, but don’t try to do it yet.

***

5 years passed. Milana stayed with Carl all her time free from studies and tried to make him recover, telling how happy they had been spending time together and how bravely they had saved the world. All the work of the girl and Carl’s parents helped the boy recall the things forgotten. Then they finished their studies, found some jobs and started living in their new large apartment granted by the state for this heroic deed.

 Kateryna Belytska, 15 years old
Now I have come to understand…

— Olesia, wake up, quick, they have finally come!

— Wha-a-t, who has come, Marusia? — mumbled the girl with her eyes still closed as she was still somewhere in the unreachable dreams as if swaying on the tender waves that would not let her go.

— Well, who, who?! The construction team! — shouted Marusia with ardent joy, and her brown eyes were shining in the dark as if under the sun rays. Olesia jumped up immediately, hugged Marusia, and started crying.

— Is that all? The end?! Have we won?!

— How could it be otherwise? The victory is always with those who have something to protect, — Marusia proudly replied.

— But we failed… to protect ourselves… — desperately responded Olesia. The girls, indeed, failed to protect themselves.

***

Marusia and Olesia got acquainted already in the cold damp ground. They found themselves there all of a sudden, as if under the flash of an old camera.

Marusia wanted to leave the town but was hesitating, and she started collecting her belongings already too late, she was still hoping till the last minute that everything would be fine. But the explosions were heard closer and closer, they stopped for some hour or two, and then the inhuman Death tango started playing with a new awful drive. The situation was becoming worse, and the girl was petrified with some unknown fear. She was afraid of going to the streets since Death was walking there. And she was afraid to stay since Death could reach her anywhere. She saw people buried, just covered with the earth in their yards not to have the deceased left in the open, not to have dogs tear them away into pieces. Desperate and hungry, Marusia was looking at her large travel bag made from crocodile leather, with all those expensive luxury clothes, and was just desperately whining. “That’s it… is that it… I have put all my life into this damned bag?!” She felt bad, she slipped to the floor and burst into tears. In fact, there was nothing to take with her.

Everything she used to be so fascinated about, everything that used to uplift her spirits and make her dizzy now seemed to be some worthless rags, trash. Her Chanel dress could not save her from horror and despair, her Versace hills could not guarantee safety, her Gucci bags could not feed her …

But! She recalled the only thing that could possibly comfort her! Her grandfather’s old warm jacket. That memory made her lift up. She immersed into the depth of the wardrobe, found her only precious thing among the brand trash, and put it to her breast with some unspeakable feeling. She put it on. Felt warm. That was the only memory of the one who had brought her up, who had been staying with her till his last breath, who had loved her unconditionally and sincerely, with all his heart. And it was him who had taught her not to give up whatever happened, even if stones started falling from heaven. “Grandpa, my dear grandpa, I will not give up! — said the girl aloud. — Maybe, I am a silly girl, but I am also your granddaughter!”

She looked around with a new look. She embraced the whole room with a quick glance. Nice furniture, good repairs, smart entourage, a little world of fashionable things. The awards of the “best employee of the year”. These are her main achievements. It used to be important… But why is there not a single photo? With some people near and dear to her? Not a single moment of happiness? Not showy displays, but real life?

“And did I have it — real life? — Marusia thought sadly. — Only in my childhood.”

She could not cry any longer, and she started praying silently. And then she fell asleep. She even did not understand when that happened. But all of a sudden she went into oblivion. Death came to her five-storey building. Once in her childhood Marusia dreamt to see a colourful indescent bright hummingbird (colibri — in Ukrainian. — Ed. note), but she saw “Caliber”. And Marusia went into eternal sleep with her dreams.

***

Five minutes before Olesia, who lived one storey below, was drinking the last drops of water from the aquarium. Neither the tiger catfish nor the Japanese carp needed this water any longer. She had eaten them. But she was hungry again. Her stomach was curling into a node like a long balloon in the circus.

The girl was looking at the empty aquarium for a long time. Or at herself? Since it reflected her pale face. Now at least it was clean. The girl used some of the water from the aquarium to wash her face. What had happened to her eyes? They were like dark spots. And that could not be washed away. How many days and nights has she stayed in the dark, in the vault? Maybe, that is why her eyes became like that? She did not want to get back to the dark. She was desperate to get at least a drop of sun, a piece of heaven… Olesia sat on the floor, leaned against the wall and started singing a sad and strange song:

And death is already walking in the yard.

And it is slowly approaching me.

Slowly, silently

it is approaching me.

She recalled her mother singing that song and recalled her last words: “Olesia, my daughter, take care of your soul, since why conquer the whole world but ruin your soul?”

…Now I have come to understand you, mom.

***

There used to be a brave man, maybe, he’s still there,

he was looking for the dead

to lay their bodies to rest…

That is how Marusia and Olesia met in the ground of their yard. It was difficult for them to stay under the destroyed building.

The burden of all accumulated human belongings was exerting pressure on them. The pictures from their past life persecuted them. The voices of the former residents persecuted the girls: “Where do I get more money?; “Ania, stop, keep silent, we will play tomorrow”; “What kind of life is it! It is raining again! I hate it!”; “Shall we go to the park? No, I’d rather stay with my telephone”; “I am very busy this weekend. I will definitely go to my mom’s place next weekend.”

They could hear this painful polyphony of souls even there, under the ground. Not leaving them in the quiet. They were waiting when that would all be over, when the builders would come to finally demolish the old, obsolete world and to lay down the foundation for a new one — much more sincere and much better.

Words did not matter in the old building. There was love, but not always for people. Things were appreciated, and not time spent with the near and dear people. Happiness was planned, but ways to it were forgotten. Plans were built, but not relationships. Form could be seen, but not content. That is why Marusia and Olesia rejoiced at hearing the sounds of the construction equipment: — Let them build a new building where everyone laughs so that walls are shaking, with real, and not bought values, where people and love live, — Olesia said dreamingly.

— That will happen! — responded Marusia. — Since me and you have become the foundation for this. A happy world is built at a high price…

Dominika Doktor, 15 years old
Moon 

I am looking at the moon in my imagination.

Full moon — so nice, deeply round in complete darkness.

In fact, I don’t remember the moon that was hanging above me that night.

I don’t remember the stars.

In this variable memory, so young with its incapacity to memorize important things, in fact, nothing has been preserved from that night.

“The book has already been read, but there still are some slightly turned over edges in it. That is why I carefully unwrapped them, I was reading over the page. Underlining words and thoughts. Sometimes I wrote my own on the margins. “It was slightly raining outdoors” — that is what I wrote back then, close to midnight, in my diary. Books, rain, quiet. I did not feel anything. Just nothing. On that day I was just thinking — for long, continuously, on a cyclic basis — about noise — about my striving for silence, and, at the same time, about my being grateful to the drops falling from heaven and covering my sister’s loud life. No thoughts about the war. No glimmering of the silhouettes of soldiers in front of my eyes, no dead relatives asking to take care of myself. No prophetic dreams or unreasonable cries in the darkness. I cry only now — coming to the mirror and scolding myself: for not predicting. Not telling in advance.

But my memories are a strange terrain. Whenever I put them on paper, everything loses its contours. If I were not putting them down, I would be living in emptiness, with no memories, where the past has just some vague contours aching in the night. So now, after all the times I ran to the basement pressing my cat to my breast — оh, it did not even object: alarm signals were howling, while it was sleeping; I had incessant and tiring ideas about that sixth sense of hers, sixth sense, sixth sense —… that is why now I’d rather think that I was looking at the moon. That back then, with midnight passing, when the twenty-third was flowing into the twenty-fourth hour of the day, I felt something, I understood.

I want so much, to some tremor, extremely strongly to know that we are not helpless in this world, that I was ready, that the events do not just crash into our lives, do not explode in front of us when the previous night we were falling asleep and planning our next day. But the events are acute-angled, when the flesh of my days is absolutely soft. They fully pierce it, the way the moment when it stops raining pierces me.

I remember:

— Go to bed, — the mother’s voice is so tender. It is rarely tender. My eyes are closed. Wandering with my eyes under the darkness of eyelids, I am feebly thinking whether her words are a dream, or they are real.

— Why? — answers my sister: playful, naively rounded childish sounds go through the little hole of the semi-opened door. Of course, I cannot see that hole, but I feel the sounding by its tonality, and I feel so uneasy as the result. The door must be closed. If not — my dreams will escape, and I will forget them again.

— You will not go to school today.

I sadly breathe out in my mind. I would not go to school anyway: it’s quarantine. And my sister, while staying here, would just create a lot of noise — that is her trait of character, the same as my trait of character is to make nights into days. Without waking up, I change my plans in this conscience of my dreams. Maybe, I should switch on Mozart? Bach? Ludovico Einaudi? Whose melodies would be loud enough to cover the loud sound of routine life?

— Why?

— War has broken out.

And then I was not looking at the moon either.

—

“I open my eyes.

No drowsiness. The room, the bed, the folded blanket. No drowsiness. Just complete greyness outdoors, the already dark shining of the morning. The voice of the news is disturbing the petrified house. We have been attacked. It has started.

My thoughts are pulsating, shuffling, stumbling. A dense ball in my silly head. I tell myself that I am not afraid. I feel so cold.

Why is it so cold?”

—

And when I was taking the books to the basement, full of the feeling pulsating in the throat that this is the most important thing I have got. Books. Somebody’s lives lived since I still don’t have mine.

I was not looking at the moon either.

I was not, not looking, why was I not looking at the moon?

But it was looking at me.

I freeze in my mind. That realization embraces me softly. It was looking at me.

..Many days have passed. Grey, rain-injured days. The soul is learning to be quiet. If my hands tremble, I smile at myself and tell that this is because of coffee. If I have had not coffee yet on the day — I smile in the same way, but say that this is because I have not yet made any bitter sips of coffee.

I found myself in a new capacity — to think about the crows that settled in the deserted nest behind my window. Their feathers preoccupy my mind. Blood is not noticeable in the dark background. That is why I am looking at those feathers, at those majestic wings — and I forget myself that way…

And what about the moon? Not seen for quite a long period. Since the outbreak of this there have been more stars. But the moon appears so rarely. But I keep reminding myself every day something I definitely don’t want to lose — that it was looking at me. Looking at me back then. Because while repeating this I may believe that it was not just looking, but also promising.

Whisperingly, ephemerally, silverly.

And confidently.

“Everything will be fine.”

It will, won’t it?

The editorial “rule of small letters” or the “rule of disrespect for criminals” applies to all the words related to evil, like names and surnames of terrorists, war criminals, rapists, murderers, and torturers. They do not deserve being capitalized but shall be written in italics to stay in the focus of the readers’ attention. 

The programme “Wars. Ukrainians. Humanity” has been created by joint effort and with the financial support of the institution’s members of the Cultural Business Education Hub, the European Cultural Foundation, and BBK — the Regensburg Art and Culture Support Group from the Professional Association of Artists of Lower Bavaria/Upper Palatinate.

Authors: Polina Karpova, 13 years old, Kateryna Belytska, 15 years old, Dominika Doktor, 15 years old

Translator (from Ukrainian): Halyna Pekhnyk

Illustrators: Nastya Gaydaenko and plasticine panel by Olha Protasova

Copyeditors: Yuliia Moroz, Terra Friedman King

Proofreader: Tetiana Vorobtsova, Terra Friedman King

Content Editors: Maryna Korchaka, Natalia Babalyk

Program Directors: Julia Ovcharenko and Demyan Om Dyakiv-Slavitski