Rise from the Ashes 1759 words The gentle singing. Drifting through the air. A reminder of our past and our future. A reminder of war. A reminder of the rebellion. A reminder of how to rise. Rise from the ashes. I heard the guns before I saw them. The dreaded whistling of them shooting through the air. The desperate shouts for help. The harrowing raw screams that rang in my ears. It had been like this for days. “Lena!” I glanced up to see Elijah, my fiance, towering over me, his face taut with worry. “We have to go, now,” He told me urgently, his voice cracking in fear. “It’s not safe in the hospital.” I glanced back at the hospital beds that lined the corridors. “But we’ve managed to survive here for so long already! Why leave now?” He swallowed. “I got told that they’re… bombing all of the hospitals in Odesa.” “But the patients! We can’t just leave them!” I cried, tears stinging my eyes. “We have to save them. They’re our responsibility.” His lip wobbled and he steadied himself on my arm. “They won’t live. None of them. The ones who have a chance already escaped. They’re too weak. I’m sorry. But we have to save ourselves.” I shook my head grievously. “There must be another way.” I murmured. “There has to be.” “I’m sorry.” He repeated. He took my clammy hand in his and led me out of the hospital, my whole body shaking uncontrollably as the patients gazed after us, the sparks of hope dying in their eyes as they faced the brutal reality of death creeping up on them. We stumbled through the doors of the hospital, and immediately burning ash met my skin, searingly hot. I wrapped my lab coat tighter around myself, ignoring the crimson stains that dotted its surface. I surveyed the city. Soldiers patrolled the streets, guns cocked, their faces dull and expressionless. Flames licked up the sides of buildings, greedily swallowing them. The whole place was littered with rubble and people fleeing for their lives. Elijah tapped me lightly on the shoulder. “Are you OK?” I gave him a weak smile. “I’m fine.” But I wasn’t. Every fall, every failure, every death I witnessed was like a stab to my heart. A cold hand gripped my leg. I jumped, startled, and looked down. An old man lay there, his leg trapped under a coarse boulder, a scarlet river trickling down his sandpapery skin. His eyes were hollow. “Please, take my little girl.” He begged hoarsely. I spied a small toddler gripping his hand tightly, her back hunched. “I promised her parents I would keep her safe. I swore. But now I can’t. Please, you have to save her from this place.” His breathing became fast and shallow, his final ones escaping his chest and his hand loosened on the girl’s, his head lolled back and he went limp. The girl’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Granddad? Wake up.” But he didn’t move. A lump rose in my throat. “Come on, let’s go.” I urged the girl, delicately pushing her away. Her body was thin. Too thin. Her skin was pale, almost translucent. She wrenched her arm from mine and raced back to her granddad, pleading with him to wake up. “Please, you can’t leave me!” She sobbed. I separated her from the old man, hating myself every single second that passed. How could I take a little girl - only a few years old - away from her only family? But I had to. She shoved me and screeched and wailed, but I just kept on walking further and further away, hand in hand with Elijah. Planes whirred above us, gliding in and out of the dark, ominous clouds, bombs plunging from their bellies straight towards us. “The hospital.” Elijah muttered. “They’re actually bombing them.” My eyes widened in horror. The bomb was hurtling straight towards the hospital. The patients. Who we had abandoned just a few minutes ago. They were going to die. I uttered a short prayer for them. There was nothing I could do now. I watched, glued to the spot, frozen in anguish, as the bomb crashed to the ground, erupting in flames. The building collapsed in on itself, smoke wreathing around the charred remains of it. Then after that… silence. A hushed intense silence that hung over the city. Our flag fluttered in the air, torn and ripped. The stark yellow was muddy and faded and the ocean blue was practically disintegrating. But I still felt a wave of comfort wash over me looking at it. Home. I began to sing. Quietly at first as my voice regained itself, but then slowly louder. The words of a lullaby my mother once sang to me on her deathbed. About rising from the ashes. We used to sing it in school when we were younger. Before the war. Elijah joined in and people around us did as well. Some sang the words off by heart, others just hummed. But we grew in a crescendo of music, our words weaving together to create something stunning. We had lost so much, been ripped apart for so long, and yet here we were, singing like it was just another day.
The gentle singing. Drifting through the air. A reminder of our past and our future. A reminder of war. A reminder of the rebellion. A reminder of how to rise. Rise from the ashes. “So, what’s your name?” I asked the little girl with forced brightness, pasting a smile on my face. “Jayla.” She replied, her arms crossed and her lips pursed. I gave her another small smile. “That’s a beautiful name.” She turned away. I could feel the fury radiating off her. “Why are you angry?” I asked faintly. She buried her head in her hands. “All my family gone. Mummy, Daddy, Danylo, Granddad. Now just me. I angry at God. He supposed to keep them safe. But he didn’t.” I bit my lip. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. “Don’t be angry, Jayla. They are safe in heaven, in God’s care. This is God’s way of… helping us. Showing us how far we’ve gone wrong. He’s trying to make people do something about it. Make us better. Cleaner. Don’t-” “Lena!” Elijah called. I could hear the fear lacing his tone. Panic coursed through me. I turned towards him. Just like the old man, he was splayed out on the ground, blood peppered across his skin. A bullet was sunk deep into his flesh by his shoulder and another in his stomach. The shiny sickly red pooled around him. I crumpled down beside him, tears cascading down, soddening my clothes. “Don’t leave.” A smile danced on his lips and he lifted his hand to my face, groaning in pain. “I don’t want to d-die. I’m s-scared, Lena...” He stuttered. So was I. He couldn’t die. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. “You’ll be fine.” I lied, “You’ll just sleep for a bit and you’ll be fine.” He shook his head. “Back soon.” I laughed bitterly. He clutched my hand tightly, his knuckles a pearly white. Then he relaxed. His hand hung slackly from mine. His eyes glazed over. I screamed. And screamed. And screamed. Raw. Unearthly. Chilling. “Lena?” I was startled out of my grief by Jayla's harsh voice. “There are scary people walking towards us.” She stated solemnly. She was right. Soldiers were marching towards us, brandishing their rifles. I had to forget Elijah for now, I had to keep Jayla safe. “We need to hide.” I whispered. I dragged Jayla towards the hospital. They wouldn’t look there. We were just metres away from the doors, from safety, when a large crowd of bedraggled people swept us up, pulling us away. I elbowed against them, reaching out for the hospital, but they were too strong. Drawing us away. Maybe they knew where they were going. Maybe they knew how to escape. Maybe they knew how to live. I scooped Jayla up in my arms and reached out for Elijah’s hand. But it wasn’t there. I swiped at my eyes, brushing away tears and tried to push the thoughts to the back of my mind. We walked for what could have been minutes, hours, days, even weeks. Everything seemed blurred and faded. Like there was a wall separating me from the rest of the world. Voices were muffled. Faces were hazy. And then, we were there. At the train station. The familiar rattle of trains passing by filled my ears. We ducked underneath a coarse rope and scrambled over the barriers. A lady with a mint green hijab and crinkled eyes touched my arm softly. “There are no normal trains now. Some are filled with prisoners and some with ammunition. Don’t hesitate to jump on one if they stop. Otherwise the soldiers on them might see you.” She advised me. I nodded my thanks and carried on walking. I reached the platform and poised myself on the edge of the line, ready to jump on, being bustled by hundreds of people desperately trying to get a spot on one. I hugged Jayla even tighter as a train approached. It came in a flash. And it didn’t stop. I could have cried with disappointment. But I bit it back. There would be others. And sure enough, half an hour later, a train stopped. The carriages were loaded with cargo and made of rickety wood. People swarmed onto it, finding any space they could. I eventually squeezed myself and Jayla on and was immediately met with a musty aroma, days of sweat and rotting food. I gagged, bile rising inside my throat. I sat us down in a small corner. The train juddered along shakily. But we were safe for now. That was what mattered. Through a rough hole in the wood I could see the sky. Unlike before, the sun was glowing, streaks of amber and ruby painting its subtle blue canvas. Joy bubbled up inside of me. We would survive. Whatever it took. I began to sing. The same lullaby as before. And, like before, people joined in. All of us, united in song. Uncontained elation escaped me and I laughed. A proper laugh. A spark of hope ignited in me. I felt free. The gentle singing. Drifting through the air. A reminder of our past and our future. A reminder of war. A reminder of the rebellion. A reminder of how to rise. Rise from the ashes.
