“Donetsk Day” in Kiev

Translated by Ollie Richardson & Angelina Siard


Galina Zaporozhtseva

Today I published a post with the contents of my friend from Kiev’s dream, in which the heroes of Donbass came to her.

Written under this post were many warm words of support, which are extremely important not only to many Kievans, but especially to my friend, who when she was diagnosed with “cancer” said “I cannot die before Victory arrives”.

Now I want to post one more message from my Kiev friend, and if after reading it someone says that Kiev is not a Russian city, I ask them to delete themselves from my friends!

“…Yesterday two ‘Donetsk’ events happened to me. The first one caught me in the subway. The train was approaching and in the tunnel it habitually screeched from the brakes. But for some reason I was frightened and recoiled. And the first thought was ‘shelling began!’ The guy standing nearby in semi-camouflage contemptuously took an interest: ‘You are from Donetsk or what?’, ‘No,’ I answered, ‘I’m from Kiev’. ‘And why do you recoil like during shelling?’ And here I obviously killed him with the answer: ‘I am practising. It will be useful!’, and proudly entered in the carriage. The guy remained on the platform with a very surprised look…

The second event happened on the bus. I was listening to my favourite ‘Donbass march’ via the earphone and suddenly the bus shook, an earphone flew off, and the sound escaped throughout the all-Kiev bus: ‘But war has such drastic measures. Lugansk is covered only by you and me, and we are always ready for battle’. I convulsively tried to turn off the broadcast, understanding that I’m on a Kiev bus. But suddenly a grandfather sitting nearby said: ‘Daughter, do not switch it off, let’s listen.’ I nervously told him that the song is not appropriate, it’s not from the АТО zone.

And here a woman from behind joined in: ‘Yes we understood it, play it again. There are only ours on the bus now!’ Indeed, I looked around – there were only pensioners, and obviously very old ancient ones at that. So I also arranged a concert of requests. It was a fiery furor! But in all of this we did not notice that a large young man was sitting at the very back of the bus. He thrusted himself forward as far as his mass allowed, and rushed towards me. One old woman stuck her foot out, but retained his balance and started to shriek about separatist-bastards… But he did not take the Soviet elderlies into consideration… It ended with the fact that he began to be beaten with everything – someone with a walking stick, another with a string-bag, and another one with a weak fist… But here he was lucky, because the bus left the gridlock and stopped at the stop. The guy nearly slid down the steps… To which the grandfather sitting in front of me philosophically concluded: ‘El pueblo! Unido! Jamàs serà vencido!’ (The united people are invincible!) And laughed!… So yesterday I received Donetsk day. Maybe that’s why my dream was also a Donbass one…”

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