Russian Invasion
To the clear skies with wide eyes, I used to stare.
The nights used to be quiet, silent upon the hilltops. Little birds with muted words, clung to air. High above, they could feel it, could see it. The truth, the coming carnage of which we’d been warned on the news.
No longer soviets, the Russians held their gear. They held the border, readying their mortars, rockets… nukes. In the past, the countries would talk. Come to an agreement, make amends, shake hands, and yet…
Upon the ground, they roared. Ten thousand pounds of thrust rocketed planes full of ordinance into the air. Within half a day, I could hear them. Their screams, tearing the atmosphere. Shattering with bombs, the towns and villages I once explored. Scattering to the wind, soil from playgrounds and parks, bakeries and barbershops.
Skipping upon the ground, little cylinders of death rolled to a stop. Silently, they waited; their fuses resting patiently awaiting vibrations. Little messengers of whom would instruct them to detonate. To release their luminous light. Like fireworks they popped, blind to the lives of those they maimed while their green and black tanks ran wild through the countryside.
Stomping over fields of wheat, they scythe’d the farmlands. Rolling along, their shells punched through buildings. Blazed through roadsides and alleyways. Smashed through fences and ditches. Pummeled cars and caravans. Kicked in doors with heavy boots, before trampling over the inhabitants.
To hide, was terror; an oppressive weight. Basements weren’t safe, for their weapons could strip atoms from ash; soaking air with fuel, before detonating a concussive force. I was in an office when it happened, a thermobaric. Visiting from Nigeria, I’d never seen combat before. Air raid sirens were going off, blaring in the distance. Screaming at the top of their lungs as the young and old alike filtered into our building during the dead of night. Wartorn, they’d fled from neighboring cities. Coal in their eyes, they walked like black holes. Twisted inwards by shock, devastation… despair.
Swallowing, I froze as my manager pushed past. Pulling a suitcase, a little boy held scars on his face. Half open, most of the clothes had fallen out.
Sani…
“Sani!” The voice said louder.
Eyes flickering, I came back to my senses. “Sani, help her out.” Volodymyr said, pointing to a shellshocked woman. Sitting in a chair, she’d given up. Sock over one foot, a shoe resided over the other. Face in her hands, she visibly shook. Radiating an energy, a pulsating agony of which deterred me. I wanted to help, I wanted to heal, but — but…
Sweat leaving my chin, the water droplet wobbled. Clear with molecules of salt, it held a form. Reflecting tendrils of light, the tiny bead whispered its existence. Catching the eyes of a few, it averted the gaze of the many. Tapping the ground, the building wheezed as a bomb went off. Detonating above the ground, a flash of heat enwrapped me. Slipping around my arms, it hugged my waist before soaking in.
I was numb to the pain as it burned through. Highlighting the extremities of my soul, my bones absorbed the energy. Painting my brown skin gold, it liquified before giving way to a final stage of vaporization.
Falling backwards, my arms outstretched as I gazed into stars. Sinking, I didn’t attempt to swim; for the world was quiet. A silent meadow, a drifting cloud; I felt at peace. Closing my eyes, I dissipated; disappearing beneath the waves.
Where was I going? I don’t know.
Hello! We’re D.J. Hoskins
We are Davena and Jason Hoskins, co-authors of 30+ books and siblings who write under the pseudonym D.J. Hoskins. Three years apart and in our twenties, we have been fascinated by stories from a young age. Davena is a student attending Princeton University, and Jason attends Georgetown University.
