Zaporizhzhia

Category B: Highly Commended (2023) Monash Short Story Writing Competition
Author: Prisha Rewal

It was subtle at first. The family had moved to Zaporizhzhia, a bigger city with more work opportunities. Steam puffed from the nuclear power plant, slashing a grey streak across the blue sky. The streets were busy, noisy with the giggles of children, and populated with guard posts set up outside important buildings. Residents were friendly and open. The girl went to school, came home, had dinner, and went to bed. Life was good.

But soon guard posts became check-ins, check-ins became weekly patrols, weekly patrols became curfews and suddenly the streets were scarce.

“Just safety precautions!” the army said.

Gone were the sounds of children laughing and birds chirping. Even the animals seemed to disappear, withdrawing themselves from the quiet. Residents were tight-lipped and cold. The girl went to school, listened to her apprehensive teachers, practiced drills and lockdowns, learnt morse code, first aid skills, survival techniques, where to hide. She heard the words “invasion” and “Zaporizhzhia” more and more. Father came home each day, no longer the jokester he used to be, but grim, his usual pristine lab coat stained brown.

The girl didn’t know what any of it meant. It confused her, the way mother smiled at dinner, but it never reached her eyes anymore. The way father started to read her bedtime stories about brave characters who never gave up hope. It was like she was trying to build a puzzle, but someone was hiding all the pieces.

Until one day- 

The puzzled clicked.

The rhythmic pounding of boots woke her up. It was the dead of the night, yet thousands of synchronised feet stomped on the ground. It wasn’t until a thunderous BOOM! sounded that the girl knew the fear people felt, the sense of menace that had poisoned the air for weeks was because of this. This was the invasion. Her parents appeared now, rushing her out of the room and into the street, where guns were roaring, tanks fired bullets, and soldiers were shouting.

But what jumped out at her were colours of a different flag. The white, blue, and red stripes reminded the girl of toothpaste, which was quite funny really, when you thought about it. “A toothpaste flag!” she had thought to herself.

Her attention was brought back to the fighting. The battle before her was like the stories father had been telling her, but only worse, much worse.

So.

Much.

Death.

It all made sense now, the stories of bravery, of battles, of heroes, of hope. Because her country was at war.

“They are dangerous. Especially him. He rules by fear, mila. And he will tear the world apart in this war.”

The girl’s father had turned to her then, worry lines creasing his forehead. But a ferocious light sparked within his eyes in a way she had never seen before.

“No matter what happens, you must have hope. Because hope is stronger than fear. Hope is what matters. Remember this, mila.”

Everything happened fast after that. Time sped forward, and suddenly she was hiding in a lime green shelter with her family from the sounds of screaming and the dropping of bombs, suddenly her mother was kissing her forehead, her father telling her to have hope.

The noise, the bloodshed – it was too much. The girl closed her eyes to the dark.

***

Life resumed as normal. But it wasn’t really because they had taken the city under occupation. The bombs that had everyone hiding were only dropped on the council building, the post office, the police station, the army base, and everyone close to those buildings were killed in the blast.

But no damage was done to the nuclear power plant, close to where they lived. Zaporizhzhia was simply too important, so thank God her family was alive, thank God father still went to work, thank God they were all safe. But were they really?

The girl thought all these things as she went to school, came home, had dinner, and went to bed. Every day. The streets were still quiet, and residents became polite – all smiles and no words, flashing teeth but vacant eyes. At school, teachers made small talk about grades and assignments, treating them like little kids again.

And each day, a flash of those toothpaste colours. They were everywhere now – plastered throughout the supermarket, around the streets, some hidden in alleyways, others sprayed violently on brick walls.

The girl couldn’t stand the pretentious normality her life had become. The fear in the air was stifling, masked by artificiality, and coated with forced happiness.

Only the girl’s parents seemed to acknowledge the reality of what was happening. Mother hugged her tight, telling her it would be ok, and father reminded her to keep hoping for better.

But one day it happened. They never thought it would, because Zaporizhzhia was simply too important. Nonetheless, father came home no longer wearing his white lab coat, surrounded with a sense of dread. All the staff had been kicked out of the nuclear power plant, dismissed by the invaders who paid no heed to people losing their jobs.

And then-

It blew up.

Zaporizhzhia, the largest nuclear power plant in Europe, had a “meltdown” as the reporters called it, planned by the invaders when they secretly set up mines around the facility, packed with explosives.

The deafening sound that erupted on a Saturday afternoon shook the whole city, knocking down the school and shattering the windows of the girl’s home. She screamed, dropping to the ground with her parents, as the thunderous BOOM! echoed in the air. The explosion created a tremendous mushroom cloud that rose up from the plant, billowing over the horizon and enveloping the atmosphere in a choking crimson cloud.

***

2 years have passed, and they are still here. The girl is part of a resistance group now and despite everything, she still holds hope, like her father told her to.

Hope for the war, for her country, for her people. Hope for all Ukrainians.