Terror’s Grip
Dear Diary, I ’ m lying in bed. I have little strength in my limbs. I lie on my back, the soft noises of hospital machines buzzing in the background. My stomach has an empty, hollow feeling inside. They have tried to “ protect ” me by not telling me everything that is going on. But I am not stupid, I know the Russians are coming - though I do not know what they will do when they get here. Mom told me not to accept the worst. But lying here, with nothing but my thoughts going in circles through my mind, it is hard not to. As I lie here, my imagination wanders — a thousand atrocities I have never seen now seem to come clearly to my head. Fear grips me. Dear Diary, The nurse just came in to see me. She said not to worry - but there was worry in her voice and eyes. I can ’ t take it anymore. Just lying here, while Ukrainians die and war wages. I am barely ten. I wonder if I will ever reach my eleventh birthday.
Dear Diary, I lie here, helpless. Insignificant. Useless.
Dear Diary, Mom has joined the army and is going to fight. She kissed me on the forehead. “ I love you, ” she repeated over and over through her tears. I hugged her back, not wanting to let go. I don ’ t want to be alone. I don ’ t want her to die. As that thought hit me, I began to cry. Big, hiccupping tears - the kind I haven ’ t cried since I was little. And fear gripped me again, but not for myself this time. For her. For Ukraine. For everything I have ever known. Dear Diary, Today they are moving us out of the hospital. Nurses push the beds of kids who can ’ t walk. Those who can barely walk stumble along - the beds can only be used for those who need them. The line is slow. Fear is palpable in the air. As I lay in bed, I look around at my fellow patients. We are all children, we are all Ukrainian, but other than that we have nothing in common - different reasons for being in the hospital, different features and ethnicities. And yet every face that I see, no matter the features, holds fear. We are all afraid. More afraid than we have ever been in our lives. Scared for our lives, scared for our parents and family, scared for our cities and towns, scared for our country. For the whole while it takes us to board the train, which will allegedly take us to somewhere safe (if there is any such place), fear hovers in the air. No, not fear, absolute terror.
Talia Taback, Seventh Grade
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