The Sun Has Fallen

December 25, 1917

It was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives. Mama had prepared roasted turkey for the holidays and had made a delicious punch filled with exotic fruit. It was a luxury for us and we were excited. But Papa didn’t return that night. We waited so long that Mother eventually told us to go off to bed, that tomorrow we would eat. I stayed awake and grabbed a book from under my bed. Drowning myself into new worlds and places, I heard a sob after another. That sound called me back into reality and I walked to the ajar door of my room. Mother was sitting beside the chimney, her hands wrapped in the inside of her sarafan, her sweat making her forehead shine as I watched her. I stepped out into the reddish wood of the living room and I made my way into my Mother’s arm, cradling myself against her chest, as she began to caress my head. We both stayed like that for a long time, waiting for Papa to return. 

The next morning when we opened the door and Papa hadn’t returned, Mother collapsed on the ground. She broke into tears, her droplets huddled on the ground making a slight dent on the dirt floors. I watched the droplets closely, making sure to witness if they turned into a stream. I have heard there is a Trail of Tears in America and I’m pretty sure it's the same thing. 

December 20, 1917

Mother thought it was best if we left. She told us to pack our things which were just necessities including soap, some blankets, and Papa’s revolver. We all packed our things into the remaining spaces of the suitcase but it was impossible for all of our things to fit into one suitcase. Mother grabbed another suitcase; this one was bigger and would be able to hold the others remaining things. She pushed our things inside and we all threw our suitcases in the middle of our small house. Mother called to us and we all huddled together, our noses runny and cheeks blushed, as we prayed quietly.  Amen.  

Mother rushed to go outside, her hands gripping tightly to the suitcase, and she shut the door behind her. 

We walked into the crowded streets of Ukraine, our hands hidden beneath 3 different coats, and our eyes observing everything. My imagination soared like a bird and I imagined how it would be like if people were like ants. If that was so, I think there would have never been a war or my Papa wouldn’t have been taken by the Red Soldiers.  I gripped on my scarf tightly, the wind smashing against us like water hitting a beacon in the middle of the sea. Hand in hand we walked, like ducks behind their mother, and I glanced behind me. I let go of my brother’s hand, swallowed by the mass of people, and when I looked again they were gone. My entire world whirled behind me as I screamed and screamed. But they were long gone, driven by the current, and I stood there with so much helplessness that my body didn’t believe in even trying. After that moment I found myself lost in time, as if I was still the young child as before. I weeped everyday for them. Trying to blame the crowd or my Mother for being so careless. But I guess God doesn’t listen to excuses. 

January 13th, 1917

Only a month has passed since I have been on my own. My mother is possibly in Turkey right now and my brothers have forgotten about my existence.  When you are by yourself, your imagination is the only thing that is with you and the strength that makes you not want to wake up and strangle yourself. I always wondered how that would feel, how imagination would be my savior and I remember when Papa told me that imagination isn’t going to betray you. Not like how I betrayed my family for a glance to the world behind me.  Almost like Lot’s wife and how she betrayed her entire world just to look back at a world who didn’t care for her at all. 

The Soldiers marched the streets which weren’t even visible because of the harsh smoke, their armor notifying us of their presence. We ran to the street and put ourselves in file so that they wouldn’t shoot us in the head. We have seen that happen once when a young girl didn’t want to stop playing with her marbles. She just wanted to play but they don’t care--they never care. 

 They walked in middle of the road like bullies, their head high and feet prancing around like stupid cows. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young boy make his way to the alleyway behind the mass of people. The boy sneakily made his way into the soldiers storage room, where they hid most of the food and necessities, and quickly made his way out. He had a smile on his face, a smile of a thief. With a scream, some soldiers started following the boy, their guns pointed towards him and his smile evaporated into thin air. The boy leaped to his escape and ran into a labyrinth of corpses. He nearly escaped when a loud boom silenced his steps and as a bullet trespassed his skull and made its way into the back of his brain he descended to the ground with the other thousands of corpses. An apple fell out of his hand. 

February 24th, 1918

Suns collided against the earth, ripping anything in its way, smoke rising from the debris. I watched as the smoke rose up and silently made its way into the sky. 

I wrapped my arms around my legs and tried my best to warm myself up. I didn’t like feeling cold, it reminded me of the winter I lost of Mama.  I remembered all those moments with her, that day that I snuggled myself against her chest, her warmth a tingering memory implanted in my memory. She was going to be with me until eternity, until I died she would remain a secret engraved in my soul. How I missed Mama, how I miss being a child and not having to worry if today was going to be my last. What is it like, America? How is it like, not having to worry what you’re going to eat? How is it like to enter a warm home and sleep on a bed? I wondered if Mother was okay, I hoped she was.

I cradled closer, my warmth lingering unto to skin slowly leaping off into the harsh wind. My eyes shut. And as my soul drifted off to eternal sleep, I walked hand and hand with my mother. I didn't know if she was real or not or if she was just an mirage of my imagination but I didn't care. I wanted to feel her, to be with her.

And I flew with Mother and by then it was too late.

I guess God does listen to excuses.