What I went through isn’t that scary. They just shot up the car

I was near Irpin. They don’t organize evacuations from villages like ours, because nobody knows about them. On one side there’s Irpin and Bucha, which were completely destroyed. On another — a military base. On the third — the Zhytomyr highway. All of it was being shelled heavily. There wasn’t a moment when they weren’t firing. I’ve been sleeping without those sounds for three days now, and I feel very strange — I keep waking up and flinching.

We knew there were two types of occupiers: one kind behaves relatively calmly — they come, ask for food, maybe something else, and leave. Then there are those who throw a grenade into a house and then walk in. We were afraid, not understanding what would happen to us. First, they cut our internet. Then electricity. Then they deliberately blew up the gas line. We had no access to food, of course. Three convoys had tried to leave our area via the Zhytomyr highway. All were completely shot up. About fifty people from our neighborhoods probably died. From Irpin, even more. People would drive out to the Zhytomyr highway and that was it. There were apparently some Chechens there, or I don’t know who they were. They simply opened fire. That’s why we were terrified of trying to leave. But when they cut the gas, we understood we had no options. We decided to try.

We packed in two hours. We drove there knowing: either we’d die or break through, but we weren’t going back. We were very scared, but we tried. We decided to drive in a convoy. Behind us were about twenty more cars. There were four of us in our car. We practiced how we’d lie down if we came under fire. About five kilometers before the highway, there were spotters — men of Caucasian appearance — saying something into a radio. We got onto the Zhytomyr highway, drove another half-kilometer, and heard gunfire: rat-a-tat-tat. Half the cars had children in them, and we’d covered the cars with signs saying there were children inside. But nothing was left of the Zhytomyr highway — there was only dust — so they probably couldn’t see the signs. Or maybe they could. Anyway, they opened fire on us.

From our street, I later learned that two people had been killed. I found out after the fact — we didn’t sort anything out in the moment. As I understood it, their car stalled or something was shot out. They got out of the car — there was a child in it. They got out and… they were simply mowed down. It was automatic weapons fire. We later found bullets in our car. We had an experienced driver. He pulled a police U-turn. Two windows in our car were blown out. My sister was sitting next to me — we ducked. Bullets flew through right where she’d been sitting and pierced the headrest. My sister’s ear was concussed. We didn’t understand what was happening. I have no idea how the driver reacted in time, but we were in shock. I was lying down and didn’t know what was happening. I just saw dust. I knew they were shooting at cars. Thank God, they were only on one side.

We made it to the U-turn. We passed the spotters again. Coming toward us was another convoy — not from our village, but from a bit farther away. We told them they absolutely must not go there. My sister was already white, shaking. Mom too. We were simply in shock. We didn’t know how many cars had been behind us. We didn’t know what had happened at all. We were just running. Then we came upon one of our checkpoints. Most cars turned back, but we decided to try breaking through again. Because if we’d gone back — after what had happened to us, back to no food and no water… We decided it was either they kill us, or we break through.

Our guys helped us. They guided us closer to the Zhytomyr highway, told us how to get through, but they couldn’t go any further. We drove through the fields for a kilometer. And we broke through. We saw the Russians who had been shooting at us. They, thank God, didn’t see us. What happened to the rest, I don’t know. They were jamming communications. We couldn’t even physically get through on the phone. We drove for a very long time, passing through terrible places. Villages where nothing remained. We even saw things still burning. Schools, houses. Reduced to nothing. A couple of houses standing with blown-out windows. Nobody there. Something burning, and that’s it.

At first there was horror, but then as we drove, we were amazed at how united everyone had become, how Ukrainians were supporting each other. The soldiers at checkpoints smiled at us. We’re driving, they see our shot-up car. We wanted to give them food — they refused. A soldier stopped us at a checkpoint and gave us a sprig of pussy willow. My mom and I cried for probably half an hour.

Right now, I’m in Western Ukraine. Complete strangers took us in. People here are scared when a rocket flies somewhere 40 kilometers away. Compared to being shelled by Grads every single day, this isn’t scary at all! For me, it’s nothing. Of course, people here are scared for their homes. But you realize you’re no longer afraid of that. It’s safe here.

I think places like our village are not the only ones. This is simply genocide. People have nothing. You decide: either die slowly, or die quickly. Break through, and that’s it. That was our choice. I know people who were too scared, who said: we can’t, we have children. I understand them. We left them our food, our generator. But sooner or later, they’ll run out of gasoline and food too.

What I went through isn’t as bad as what others went through. I didn’t lose anyone close to me. I lost acquaintances who were shot. But I just knew them socially. I know cases where an entire family was killed and a child left behind. Or the children were killed and the mother was left. I don’t know how anyone survives that. I didn’t lose anyone close, we weren’t wounded. They just shot up our car. That’s all.