In the end the wait was rewarded. The sniper scope caught the target. It was a man in military uniform. The scope was indifferent to his face features that could reflect some parts of his inner nature or help guess his status or identify him as a man of flesh and blood. For the scope lens he had no face, no relatives, no life, he was a moving figure, just a target. The land he had come to capture was going to witness the last flash of his miserable life every second of which was toxic to it. The smell of death enveloped the electrified air. The bullet was ready to take the path. The soil was ready to soak up blood, as it had done for a long time.
The gloomy sky was cut by the sunbeams. They were insistently punching through the clouds, ruthlessly exposing the mutilated face of the town with disfigured buildings, testifying to its resistance. The tormented place was looking at the world with its holes that had been windows before artillery and bombs demolished them leaving those ugly destructions that made constructions look cripples. Lifeless and bloodless, it was a phantom, but ruins remembered life that no one could imagine anymore even those who still lived there but belonged to the catacombs turned into homes by the most desperate ones.
The trigger was touched, and the bullet made its trajectory and hit the target. At that moment the object became a part of statistics. The soil got blood that it will transform into something useful, something that will feed the roots of plants on the day their tiny sprouts will see the sun and it will warm them and juice of life will start to flow through their thin stems. The rain will give them strength and help the earth to absorb and grind the traces of the faceless strangers and it will take those who have been put to rest and become soft and downy for them. They have faces and names and it will remember them and help the survivors heal the bleeding wounds and blue cornflowers will mix with yellow chamomiles and dress the fields.
Natalia Karel’skaya lives in the city of Dnipro, Ukraine. She writes both prose and poetry and thinks that it is an amazing way to share her thoughts, feelings and imagination. She believes that writing, just like reading, is a wonderful but sometimes not easy journey where emotions are the main point of destination.