Anastasiia

Dimly colored lights illuminated wafts of smoke from tables carrying muffled conversations, a slow passionate dance creeping along the brass rails of the bar. The pungent smell of sheesha entered my nostrils. Combined with the shadowy mystique of the foyer, the hookah bar was an exotic yet deeply passionate environment. I sat across the table from Anastasiia. My leg accidentally bumped hers underneath the table. As the smoke from her exhale crept up her face in the faint blue light, we locked eyes. Her eyes were profoundly hazel. In the blue light they glowed green, almost yellow, with a stare that pierced through the veil of smoke. Our other friends were at the table, but no longer noticeable. I did not move my leg, and she did not move hers. We remained there, touching, for the rest of the night. Our eyes met one last time before she slowly stepped into her taxi, parting ways with intentions to meet again. The looming Russian invasion was pushed to the periphery of our thought as we looked forward to our next rendezvous in downtown Kyiv.

“Remain silence, keep tension.” Commander Vadym’s broken English carried sharply through the icy Ukrainian winter. The red glow of his cigarette and the drone of our vehicle’s engine served as the only distraction from the danger of our pending mission. We lumbered into the Russian occupied suburb of Kyiv. We dismounted the vehicle and crept through the alleyways towards the frontline. Our ears intensely listened for any noise in the silence of the dawn. The sounds of artillery were just white noise as we honed in on potential threats – the cracking of glass, the crunch of frost beneath someone’s feet, or the scuffing of a jacket against the brick buildings which surrounded us. We did not know what lay around any corner, but we pressed forward. The faintest sound of footsteps crunching over rubble alerted us to freeze and ready our rifles. An individual rounded the corner dressed in all black. His nonchalant movements in this hellscape were unnerving.

“Come here, friend.” Vadym whispered sharply enough for him to hear.  

Startled, the man made a panicked step backwards. His earlier nonchalance had cost him about three meters from the safe corner where he entered our field of fire.

“We are Ukrainians. Come here please!” Vadym pleaded, not wanting to execute an unarmed man. 

The dark figure made another stutter step back towards the corner. On a knife’s edge, the sporadic sounds of artillery phased out of our minds. The sound of the individual’s labored breathing heightened our senses and increased our focus. We entered the battle trance, the slow-motion dance that comes with the killing of a man. Death faintly cried out from the suburbs of Kyiv. Our blood had not yet satiated his thirst. Death would have what he was owed: the blood an artillery spotter without his artillery. I flicked my safety off and began to take the slack out of the trigger. I would sooner kill an unarmed civilian than risk the team in a relentless barrage of artillery. After a brief but concentrated stare, the mysterious figure made his choice. 

Die. The bead of the front sight recoiled up from black figure into the low windows of nearby buildings. My index finger held the trigger pinned to the rear, then rapidly, but cautiously, released the trigger just enough to feel the action reset. Death’s cry for repletion grew louder. The firing hand remained rigidly on the pistol grip, detached from its own trigger finger which was utterly relaxed – minus the pressure required to hold the trigger at its breaking point. The rapt eyes of this executioner, re-acquired the sight picture crisply as the bead receded back onto the blurred thoracic cavity of the unarmed man. The brain had forced the world into slow-motion. Once the trigger action had reset and the sight picture was re-acquired, the brain immediately commanded the trigger finger to squeeze again. Die! The parts of the shooter worked simultaneously in perfect unison. Die! Die! Die! Die!

The man dressed in black reached the corner of the building. The pieces of his nervous system which controlled him in the most decisive moments of his life had failed when faced against the finely tuned nervous system of the shooter which targeted him. Where the shooter’s information systems were primed and focused with the world in slow motion, this man’s world was flying by him, a lifetime in mere moments. His clumsy momentum carried him sprawling forward around the corner. The fiery slugs surely impeded his body’s ability to control itself.

DIE! Brass and body tumbled to the ground together. DIE!! Death was screaming out from the ground in Irpin, savoring the first drops of blood which would soon freely flow. 

We rounded the corner to the man groaning, waving his cellphone back and forth in a plea for his life. He was suffering immensely from the consequences of my actions, which rapidly sentenced him to death under martial law. BANG! The man’s head flinched, his arm fell to the ground, and his body fell involuntarily motionless. Death’s long wail ended with a deep inhale and wicked smile as the blood price was paid. I reloaded a fresh magazine and began to think about something other than murdering an unarmed civilian. 

The lull only lasted a few seconds. A battery of artillery fired at a different interval from the rest of the guns. Sensing the change in battlefield conditions, we ran into the nearest basement. Putin’s organs rained down destruction seconds later, as the whine of the rounds high overhead impacted onto our position. The concrete basement stung us as pieces of the ceiling came down. One of my friends cried out, hit with fiery hot shrapnel from one artillery round which had penetrated the outer wall. As another comrade attempted to apply a tourniquet onto his bleeding limb, a round crashed through a hole made from the first, sending pieces of their bodies flying across the room. The concrete dust from the impacts began to choke me. Gunfire rang out from the stairwell, and two grenades followed. I dove into a side room. Disoriented from the concussions and din of battle, I could no longer breathe. I checked my chest and my hand came out covered in blood. I had been hit with shrapnel, and my lung was collapsing.

“Jesse!” I cried out to one of my still alive comrades for help.

He didn’t reply but ran over to me, seeing what was wrong. He bear hugged me in a brotherly embrace. I felt warm and light despite the chill of the basement. Expecting him to pull my kit off and apply a chest seal, instead I watched him riddled with bullets from the Russians assaulting down the stairs. Crying, I reached for my weapon to meet my end. Suddenly I could breathe again but could no longer see.

I awoke in a cold sweat where I quickly oriented to Anastasiia’s warm embrace. Her warm lips on my cheek seemed familiar in a place where I could not quickly orient myself. It was dark and I slowly remembered falling asleep in a chair near the dinner table where we had finished our second date. It was a volunteer center, still within range of the Russian artillery.

“Were you having a bad dream?” She asked, innocently.

A feeble, “No.” was all I managed to reply without breaking down.

With her hazel eyes glowing through the darkness, I turned and kissed her on the lips. Physically, this was only our second meeting, but the allure of war gave us love beyond a lifetime.

Months later, as I was ordered into the last pocket of resistance in Severodonetsk, Anastasiia took me to meet her father for the first time.

“You don’t have to be here. Take my daughter and go back to America. I don’t want you to die.” He pleaded.

It didn’t warrant a response. Anastasiia’s love for me was unconditional. Despite her fear for my wellbeing, she would never ask me to quit. Instead, she would walk with me through the trenches. In my heart I knew that if I loved her, I would heed her father’s advice. I motioned to the bottle of Tequila on the table and we all toasted to the brave comrades who had given their life in this war. She never asked me why I knowingly went into this hell. She knew. She did the same by loving me.

Hobbling on his remaining leg, Commander Vadym gave us the order to load up on the trucks. I never cried during goodbyes. I felt Anastasiia’s tears wetting my shoulder. We withdrew from our embrace, and I got on one knee.

“I want to keep loving you as if we were to never leave this war, where we can always focus on the things that are important to us and hold nothing back. If you can keep loving me in this way, I promise I will do the same for you. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” She exclaimed through tears.

I felt nothing. Months in constant battle had reduced my emotional spectrum to an abysmal remnant. This last gambit to preserve my life failed utterly. Anastasiia met my lips one last time before I turned to mount the vehicles. I heard her sob. I turned back to smile at her. A singular tear streaked down my cheek and she believed that I loved her more than anything in the world. She would never know that I couldn’t feel the same love for her anymore. I loved her too much to lead her on any longer. My destination was ordained. My body was enshrined in the rat-infested rubble along the river bordering Severodonetsk but our love is immortalized in glory.