There are less than a hundred people left in our village. These are old people and young mothers with children. There are no shops, pharmacies, or public transport. We survive in houses destroyed by shelling.
Shards flew into the room, and I rolled them under the bed.
The only man in our family is my 12-year-old Kirill. He helps with the housework. Only there is no point in repairing the house. We can make repairs, and it will come again and break everything.
It is dangerous for children to walk on the streets, and the road is littered with shell fragments and bullets.
We wonder how we survive here.
Of course, during the war, the village became deserted, everybody who could do it, left, only "the most persistent" remained. We had a farm and a tractor crew here. And now everything is empty.
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