Olha Barvinok, 15 years old

Winner of the 2024 essay contest, 1st place

Gola Prystan Lyceum № 2

Teacher who inspired to write an essay -  Prokopenko Tetiana Ivanivna 

 

«1000 days of war. My way»

Tonight was a restless night not only for me but also for this red-headed miracle, my Rudik.

There were no alarms, no singing in the neighbour's apartment, but I was so sad that my sleep ran away and did not want to return. On such nights, I think and remember a lot.

I go back in my mind to the winter of 2022, when I went to school from time to time despite the pandemic.

A sad day on February 24 came upon our small town of Gola Prystan with the evil roar of explosions and the trembling of the ground under the wheels of heavy military vehicles moving towards Antonivskyi Bridge. For some reason, I woke up very early, even though I was told not to go to school. I listened to unfamiliar, frightening sounds and hugged Rudik. The cat purred and rubbed against my arms, begging for breakfast.

Neither I nor the purr had any idea that in three months, we would cross the water border between occupied Ukraine and free Ukraine.

On that disturbing cold morning, we did not know what was waiting for us in our home resort town. The greatest belief was that this nightmare would soon be over. We wouldn't have to stand for 8 hours in front of the ATB, one loaf of bread in our hands would not be a blessing in disguise, and the damned peaceful Covid would return in no time.

And there will be no shortage of fodder for Rudik.

When my mother and I were standing in the anxious queue at the bakery, one man, seeing the masks on some people's faces, said bitterly: ‘Are you still afraid of getting sick? Now, a worse evil has come.’ After these words, we burned all the masks. The cat just washed his face: ‘That's the right decision.’

Summer holidays were starting at school, and I was finishing my 7th grade. Rumors of a crossing from the Kinburn Spit to Ochakiv constantly inspired my parents to take a chance and leave.

Rudyk was hopping between their legs and looking into everyone's eyes: ‘Take me, dear ones’.

On May 31, after living in occupation for 97 days, our family left behind the dearest spot on the entire world map and went into evacuation. For the sake of their future, for the sake of themselves and me, a frightened 13-year-old girl. Rudik understood everything, so he was quieter than the steppe grass. We could not leave him with the neighbours.

Gola Prystan - Nova Zburiyivka - Stara Zburiyivka - Rybalche - Zabaryno - Heroiske - Vasylivka - Pokrovski Khutory... The end of the world.

Later, my mother would say that this was the edge of the native shore from which one could walk to our GOPRYV (GO - Golo, PRY - Prystan). Rudik did not object because he lived only his third cat's life and was not afraid of difficulties.

Arriving in the village, we realised that the crossing of the Dnipro-Bug estuary had been closed. The Muscovites had reached this protected steppe, and here, to the ‘Sviatoslav's White Coast’ (the holy of holies of the Black Sea Biosphere Reserve), they had stretched their poisonous claws.

There was no way back. For a week, we lived in caravans on the shore of the estuary, waiting for the opportunity to move to a free shore. Every day and night, rockets roared above us, drones flew, and shrapnel fell. It seemed like it would last forever. Mum was crying and praying, hugging me. And Rudik, this purr, was catching steppe mice and lizards, admiring the sunset over the summer sea.

He gave us hope with his calmness: ‘Be patient, Periwinkles, we will be safe soon.’

When the barge came at night, I could compare this crossing to the film Titanic. Water, the desire to survive and complete uncertainty. Our lives depended on the higher powers and the Ukrainian Armed Forces. I will always dream of us in the belly of a creaking barge, darkness, prayer, the heat from a red cat's coat and the trembling whisper of my mother's lips.

‘We already knew Psalm 90 by heart.

Ochakiv - Odesa - Khmelnytskyi.

Khmelnytskyi accepted us like family. My parents work, and I am now studying remotely in the 10th grade. Today is the 956th day of the full-scale invasion of Russia. Rudyk is in his 6th year.

 ‘The thing is, I don't have a home...’

GOLA PRYSTAN comes to me at night, laughing at the festivals, smelling of watermelons and matiola.

We will return to the liberated Kinburn Spit. I, an adult, will hold the hands of my victorious parents. Rudyk will be purring in a carrier behind me.