August 14, 2022


Once a woman asked me why I don’t indicate names, and cities, or put a photo of a person from the story. So I decided to write a story about it.

That was the first story I shared. The woman herself offered to write so that people would know about her.

They escaped from the occupation. It was a miracle. Before that, the family lived for about two weeks under the “surveillance” of rashists who settled in their house. The family wanted to run away from the house, but they were not allowed to. They were left as servants. The mother cooked food for them, the eldest daughter was used to satisfy their other desires She did not have a husband. They had to live through 2 weeks of hell.

The woman wanted to poison them, but they called the children before dinner and made them taste the food.

The woman told how she was abused mentally and physically. They made them undress, climb on a chair and read poems, made them bow, wipe their feet with the younger daughter’s long hair, slapped the girls on the bottom, and laughed telling them what they would do to them. They threw a Russian flag over them and told them to imagine themselves as Superman and run around the house. One could go over their actions for a long time. But they managed to escape leaving everything behind.

I published the story and even took a photo. The eldest daughter was afraid, but the mother said that the world should know.

The next day, her neighbors called her and said that they were wanted. They said that the house was broken into because of this and that they would be found and hanged for such insolence. They heard many more threats.

I immediately deleted the history and cleaned everything I could. For several days, I regretted what I had written. Although not many people viewed it, the feeling of guilt stayed with me for a long time.

The families were given asylum abroad. They are safe. And I vowed not to indicate names, cities, and photos. You never know who will read the stories, but you can recognize some families by them. Therefore, all my stories, although true, but unfortunately, without names.

Still, some people write me that almost the same situation happened to them or that I described their family. And it’s scary. Because we understand that the imagination of these inhumans [russian soldiers] has no boundaries. And this imagination is black, hideous, and scary.

But the victory will be ours Because God is with us!

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