1941

Varushka flinched as a loud bang resounded throughout the room. Her body went rigid and she stayed perfectly still, not breathing, until the footsteps left the room. And for what seemed like eternity, it left, leaving in its wake a feeling of dread and the stench of blood.

She sat still, eyes wide in the darkness, holding Luka's body close to hers. Suddenly, something cold landed on the skin of her arm, making her flinch again. Another drop fell followed by another. Shaking, she raised her index finger wiped the liquid off her arm. She brought that finger to her nose, sniffing it and recognizing the faint scent of blood.

"мама?" She meekly asked in the darkness, but no answer came.

Her small and petite arms pushed the door up slowly until it was fully open. She climbed up first then reached for her brother's body and pulled him up. Then she crawled her way out of the bed with Luka on her back. It was after she crawled out of the bed that Varushka saw the trail of blood near the door and felt her stomach drop. Her head slowly turned to the side as she dropped low on the floor, trying to look under the bed, and muffled her screams with her hands at the sight.

Staring back at her was her mother's lifeless eyes. Varushka sat up abruptly but the sudden force made her fall back, her elbows hitting the floor. Tears flowed down her face and she shook her head repeatedly, forcing the image out of her mind and denying the reality. She didn't want to believe that the body and the face drenched in blood that stared back at her was her mother's. No, she refused to believe it. It was all a nightmare, she told herself repeatedly. But as seconds passed, the chant in her head grew weaker, pulling her from her shocked state and forcing her to face reality.

All of the sudden, screams were heard and gunshots were fired. She hastily crawled under the bed, grabbing the rucksack from the small compartment and crawling out again. She opened the rucksack, revealing a disassembled M91/30 rifle, rimmed rifle shells and a few hunting knives. Hastily, she removed the rifle from the bag, sending some of the shells haphazardly on the floor and began assembling it. She fumbled with the parts, despite having used them numerous times already.

"Ich hörte etwas im Obergeschoss!"

Varushka grew cold at the voice but shook it off and focused on assembling the rifle. Her brows furrowed and she bit her lip as she quickly put together the parts. By the time she was finished, footsteps began to climb up the stairs. Her heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline pumping in her veins. She knelt down, bending her knees, bringing her lead foot forward and sitting on her back foot. She rested the flat of her arm on her knee and begun loading the rifle with shells.

"In hier!" Varushka's ears twitched, hearing the voices coming closer and closer by the second. She took her position and steadied her breathing.

I am a stone.

She blinked slowly and tried to calm her pounding heart.

I do not move.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

I take my time.

She heard the clinking of shells being loaded into a gun.

I let them come closer.

They take a few steps forward but the creaking of the wood echoed throughout the room.

I do not tremble.

The German soldiers came into view, and Varushka squeezed the trigger twice - one for each head - before they even had time to react.

I have no fear.

Blood splattered on the wall of her parent's room, but Varushka, oddly, felt neither remorse nor guilt. She stared at the two soldiers' lifeless eyes with nothing but disgust evident in her eyes. Wordlessly, she got up, walked towards the corpses and picked up their rifles and pistols, disassembling them and grabbing their cartridges. Afterwards, she grabbed her bag and placed all of her spoils inside.

"Я не жалею." She assured herself as she slung the bag over her shoulder, the rifle on the other shoulder and carried Luka's body.

Her footsteps were quick and light; she knew the nooks and crannies of her house. She knew where the creaky woods were and where to step in order to avoid them. She stood in front of the stairs, debating whether to go down or not, but she heard the unmistakable sound of a tank's wheels moving over debris and she thought different immediately. Varushka turned left and walked down the abandoned corridor until she reached an open window.

She set her brother's body down and knelt in front of him. Luka's sleeping face looked peaceful, devoid of any problems. She didn't want to disrupt her brother's relaxed state but she had to wake him up or else they would be captured. She gently patted his cheeks to wake up but when he didn't, she added more force until he woke up from his slumber.

"Сестра?" His dazed eyes gazed up to her, making his sister smile softly at him, relishing in the momentary peace. Luka abruptly disrupted her trance when he looked around, searching for something, and asked her, worry etching his features, "Где мама и папа?"

Varushka stared at him with shock. She knew that this would happen sooner or later but she never thought of what to answer. She closed her eyes momentarily then lied, "Они сказали, что они будут ловить вплоть до нас в ближайшее время. Мы просто придется идти в каюте."

"Ждать. Что относительно моих игрушек?" Luka began but his sister grabbed his shoulders, setting him in place. "Послушай меня, Луке," she ordered.

Luka's big blue eyes widened at the tone of his sister's voice. He was startled, to say the least, but he nodded. Varushka continued, "Мы должны идти, ладно? Видите ли вы, что дерево там?" She pointed at the huge tree outside the window, “Я собираюсь помочь вам там и как только мы спускайтесь, нам нужно запустить. Вы должны бежать так быстро, как вы можете, ладно?"

He nodded twice. Varushka slung the bag and rifle over her shoulders once again then told Luka, "Поднимитесь на моей спине."

When he did, she stood up, this time ready for his weight. She climbed out of the window and onto the huge branch outside the window. She prayed silently, hoping that the branch would support both of their weights. Thankfully, it did and she was able to inch her way towards the more stable part of the tree, near the trunk. She slowly climbed down, expertly weaving through the branches of the tree.

Once her feet touched the ground, she ran for her life. She laid low as she sprinted until she reached a burrow deep in the forest. She stopped and knelt down, allowing Luka to get off. Before leaving she assured him, "Оставайтесь здесь и не выходят из. Я вернусь."

Quickly, Varushka raced back to the direction of their house, still remembering to stay low as she did. Her feet thudded against the forest floor, leaving crunched leaves and broken twigs in her wake. When she neared the house, she slowed down, her eyes searching her surroundings for anything suspicious. She walked silently, moving in the shadows of the houses to avoid being seen.

"Пожалуйста, не убивайте меня!" Varushka heard someone beg a few feet away from her - in the direction of the town square - followed by a string of German.

Her senses grew alert as she moved closer and closer towards them. She found an open backdoor and entered the house, the smell of blood and death coming towards her in waves. She shook her head and ignored the corpses that littered the floor. She inched her way towards the window nearest to the door and carefully, she moved the curtain to observe what was happening.

There were five men and three women in the middle of the square, one of them seemingly familiar to her eyes. Varushka squinted, her eyes observing each feature for someone she could recognize. Finally, her eyes stopped at one person.

"Будь ты проклят и ваш фюрера!" Her father bellowed, his voice echoing in the dead town, and spat on the captain's face.

Five consecutive shots were fired and Varushka felt her heart drop with each shot. She watched helplessly as Pavel's body slumped on the floor, lifeless. Without thinking, she screamed, muffling her voice a little too late. She panicked and bolted out of the house, jumping over debris, towards the forest.

The siblings who were 16 years old and 9 years old, respectively, were now orphans in the matter of 3 hours.

"Dort ist sie!"

She ran for her dear life again but still, it wasn't enough. Her muscles cried out, straining themselves too much already. She closed her eyes tightly; she could already feel her limit coming. The only thing that pushed her body past its limits is the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

“не еще," she cried out as tears and sweat mixed together and trickled down her face.

Think, Varushka, think! She told herself. But her mind was clouded, and she wasn’t able to think straight. She blindly dashed through the thick forest until an idea made her abruptly stop in her tracks. She knelt down once again and unslung the rifle from her shoulder. Her sweaty hands gripped the rifle too tightly and Varushka desperately willed her hands to stop shaking. This is no time to be scared, she told herself.

She repeatedly told herself to be calm until two figures appeared in her line of vision. Despite being 20 feet away from them, she took her aim and squeezed the trigger. The two figures fell as she slowly brought her rifle down. Shakily, she got up but some force from her side sent her sprawling to the forest floor, knocking the wind out of her.

A rough hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, making her scream out in pain. Desperate, she tried crawling away and even clawing the hand that grabbed her hair. Her rucksack spilled its contents a few centimeters away from her. She spotted a hunting knife nearer to her than her rifle and rucksack and if she could just reach a few inches farther, she could grab the knife.

"Sie russisches Weibchen," The soldier above her, hissed. She whimpered, shaking her head numerous times, when she felt a cool metal blade on her back, ripping some parts of her shirt and putting enough pressure on the exposed skin to make it bleed. She frantically reached for her knife, urging her fingers to reach a few centimeters more.

A little more, she encouraged herself despite the stinging pain on her back.

At last, she was able to grab the handle and held it tightly in her hand. Twisting her body to her right, she grabbed the soldier’s bicep, digging her nails into his skin and pulled him down enough to expose his neck. Mustering all her strength, she drove the knife into his jugular, his blood spraying to her clothes and hands. The soldier howled in pain as his hands tried to stop the bleeding in a frantic attempt to live, but the wound was bleeding too profusely to stop. With one last gurgle, his heavy body fell limp on top of hers, almost crushing her thin body with his dead weight.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes shut as blood trickled down her neck. She twisted her body under his body so she could push him off. Yet once she pushed him off of her, she made no move to stand up. She laid there with her arms spread out, staring at the sky and unaware of the tears that cascaded down her face. What was the use of living? She and Luka were orphans now. They had no one to support them except for themselves, but they were only kids; how can they expect to survive in the wilderness?

Varushka slowly closed her eyes, hoping for some reprieve but what greeted her in the darkness horrified her; she saw a mountain of decaying corpses with maggots coming out from every empty crevice in their bodies, floating in an ocean of crimson liquid. She screamed in horror at the sight and forced her eyes to open, abruptly sitting up in the process. Her whole body trembled in fright; she wanted to stay and hide somewhere she wouldn’t be seen but Luka was waiting for her – depending on her to live. So she stood up and willed herself to collect the weapons and go to the nearest creek to calm herself.

Kneeling down on the rocky shore, she dipped her whole arm in the clear water, relishing the cool and cleansing feeling from it. She started scrubbing on her submerged arm, attempting to remove the dried blood. But when she took her arm out of the water, the lingering scent of blood was still there. Horrified, she scrubbed harder despite the pain, struggling in vain to remove any evidence of it on her body. Finally, as if a switch has been flipped, it dawned on her that she had killed 5 men at the mere age of 16. The scrubbing slowly came to a stop as she sobbed; then, the adrenaline subsided and the cloud in her mind dissipated. That was when the glass case of her emotions shattered, and she cried hysterically.