This must be a mistake

The force of the ball pulses through the whole building. Like an earthquake is happening, grandmas china bursts, family pictures tear from the wall and the whole family screams in horror.

“They are here!” the father yells. His eyes shoot across the room rapidly. He is scared but tries to contain himself, tries to appear strong. His duty as a father is to protect his family. They were not supposed to be here this quick. They said they’d still have time to move. This must be a mistake.

Or was it his mistake to stay? Was it too late now? Would his family die because he said they should wait and see what happens before deciding? There were many things to consider. He and his wife had bought the apartment shortly before their daughter was born, burning up their life savings. This was their home and they had always been proud of it. Proud to own it. They had renovated every room and adorned them with memories of the past and the present.

There was the daughters drawing still pinned to the fridge. She was three years old, when she drew this family picture – three blobs and a sun. There was the photograph from their trip to Paris. The then 5-year-old daughter was crying, his wife was laughing and he looked a bit grumpy. You couldn’t see it in the picture, but there was puke on his new shoes. It was imperfectly perfect. There was also jewelry and furniture that had been in the family for generations. There were photo albums, electronics that hadn’t even been fully paid off and many other things one does not just leave behind like that.

The demolition day was dooming, but for all he knew it might never come. Until it does.

Before he can really grasp the reality of what is happening, there is a second blast. The windows burst and glass shatters everywhere, digging deep cuts into his arms, legs and torso. He screams in pain. The daughter and the mother scream out of fear.

They themselves do not get injured because the mother is as witty as she is pretty. Even in these hard times, she still makes a point to put on make-up and perfume to look and smell presentable. Even as their home is being demolished and she looks on with eyes wide open, not really believing what is happening, she looks nice.

It is her quick-thinking mind that makes her grab the thick blankets off the bed and throw it over her daughter and herself. Just moments before the second wrecking ball impacts. The blanket gets cut. They don’t.

When the building is no longer trembling, they peek out. They see their father, kneeling and bleeding, from multiple cuts over the Persian carpet.

“I will never be able to get these stains out” the mother thinks. She frowns at her own thoughts. That should be the least of her worry. But she can’t seem to shake the annoyance that creeps up. At the dust, the cracks, the broken glass and the blood on the expensive Persian carpet.

They should have moved days ago, just like her sister had urged them too.

“Leave” she had said “if they say they will demolish the building, you better believe they do.”

But her husband hadn’t believed it and deep down she didn’t either. She couldn’t see how this was happening. This was her life. She was working, paying her bills, keeping a clean and tidy home and mothering a feisty teenager. She just couldn’t see anything like this happening to her, even though she saw the demolition notice and many neighbors decided to leave. It wouldn’t happen. Not anytime soon. This must be a mistake.

When the ball strikes the third time, she still doesn’t believe it. But her wits kick in.

“We have to get out of here!” she screams and runs, with her daughter under the blanket towards the father. They wrap him between the two of them as he groans in pain. But he can walk. He must.

“Why are they here already?” the daughter says, looking to her parents for an explanation. But all she sees is panic which makes her legs shiver and her stomach fall.

She knew she would lose her home. She never anticipated losing her life as well. The demolition wasn’t supposed to start so soon. After all, they hadn’t even moved yet and this was their home. Her room was filled with all of the possessions of her 15-year-old life. Her childhood toys and memories, her books, school notes and her computer. As they sprint towards the corridor, the daughter manages to grab her phone, filled with pictures and memories of a life that would never be the same again.

They arrive at the staircase as the wrecking ball hits a fourth time. This time the aftershock doesn’t stop. The whole building rumbles and tumbles. The family sways from one corridor wall to the other.

Part of the building is collapsing. They plunge down the staircase. The daughter cries, holding on to her father’s bleeding arm. The mother pants and yelps. They still hold on to the blankets. The only thing they managed to take along with their life. Not knowing if they will be able to keep both of these things as they descent step after step.

If these people just knew, they were still inside, maybe they would stop? Should we have waved from the windows? Would they have seen us?

The daughter doesn’t want to believe, the demolition crew would want to tear down this building no matter what. If this was the case, these people were not human speaking the same language they did. They were monsters, tearing their life apart. This must be a mistake.

As they reach the second floor a piece of rubble shoots through a broken window and hits the mothers leg. It snaps like the thin tree branch. She groans and screams at the same time, lets go of her husbands arm and falls to the ground.

“Run!” she says.

The daughter stops.

“No!” she screams, reaching to help her mother up.

The father and mother stare at each other. A thousand words are compressed into a glance that lasts mere moments.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too”

“You know, what you have to do.”

“I know.”

“Whatever happens, she must get out alive.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I am sorry.”

“It is not your fault.”

“I will come back for you.”

“It’s okay, my love. She is more important.”

“This was our mistake.”

She nods and so does he.

The daughter screams as he picks her up and throws her on his shoulders. He runs down and down and outside, through debris and dust. 100 metres, 200 metres, leaving a trail of blood from cuts he doesn’t feel anymore. As he puts his daughter down and tells her to lay low, he will go back for her mother, the building gives and collapses.

The Persian carpet.

The daughters drawing.

The family pictures.

The jewelry.

Family keepsakes.

A mother and wife.

All gets buried under big bricks of cement, held together by thick, bent rods of iron.

As father and daughter watch in horror and panic and sorrow they slowly realize:

This is no mistake. Their home, their city, Mariupol, is under attack.