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Description
My name is Leysa Wasylyk. I'm 18 years old, and I'm from Lugansk, Ukraine. Every afternoon after school I return home. I don't feel safe in the streets of my neighbourhood anymore.

This afternoon was going to be different. My Literature teacher had told us to write a poem for homework. I'm really great when it comes to poetry. After having lunch, I quickly when to my room and installed myself to work. I took out a piece of paper and a pen. Then what? I thought hard of a great idea to impress my teacher again; she loves my poems - we have had further works like this already. I stared at the paper, I walked through the room... for a nearly a goddamn hour. What was up with me? I have never had these difficulties to write poetry. Then, suddenly, I had an idea.

I was wandering in my room...

And that's it. No more? Come on, I know I can do it better than that... Then I though, shall I open the curtains? I keep them closed because there are usually riots in the street below, and I hate to see people killing each other. But perhaps I'd have better luck this time? I opened the curtains. As I imagined, there was another riot; a group of people fighting back a bunch of soldiers from the army - or the police, I can't tell. They were loosing; the armed band was massacring them. I quickly looked away.

I sat again in my chair. This conflict is going too far. I hate wars and I always will. Why did this have to happen in my country? The only good thing I can find is that now I finally know how a Syrian girl of my same age feels. I understand her.

I took out my mobile phone and I called my Russian friend, Tatiana. She's my best friend, do I need to say more?

"Hi, Leysa," she told me.

"Hi... " I replied.

"Don't tell me... More riots?"

"You guessed it."

"It's in our news right now."

"It shouldn't, this has become everyday life here in Lugansk."

"Leysa, don't worry, wars don't last a lifetime."

"Syria's has been going on for four years now."

"Ukraine is not Syria, Leysa, please!"

She's right. Well, partly right. I'm sure that our lovely president (I'm being sarcastic here) is planning to turn Ukraine into the second Syria.

"Can you please call Poroshenko and tell him that?"

"I don't want to have anything to do with him," Tatiana answered.

"I know, I was kidding, Tat."

"So? How's the group going?"

I lead a group of peaceful protesters because I want to stop this madness.

"It's not going. We gave up. Well, they gave up, more likely."

"Oh, I'm sorry. But you know you can count on me for anything..."

"Thank you. You're the best friend I have."

"You too."

I hang up. I have just had the best idea for a poem. My teacher is going to be impressed. I erased the sentence I had written in the first place. I wanted another start.
______________________________________________

Leysa Wasylyk, Tatiana Yakovleva, story & art © SlytherinRoja .

Description
My name is Leysa Wasylyk. I'm 18 years old, and I'm from Lugansk, Ukraine. Every afternoon after school I return home. I don't feel safe in the streets of my neighbourhood anymore.

This afternoon was going to be different. My Literature teacher had told us to write a poem for homework. I'm really great when it comes to poetry. After having lunch, I quickly when to my room and installed myself to work. I took out a piece of paper and a pen. Then what? I thought hard of a great idea to impress my teacher again; she loves my poems - we have had further works like this already. I stared at the paper, I walked through the room... for a nearly a goddamn hour. What was up with me? I have never had these difficulties to write poetry. Then, suddenly, I had an idea.

I was wandering in my room...

And that's it. No more? Come on, I know I can do it better than that... Then I though, shall I open the curtains? I keep them closed because there are usually riots in the street below, and I hate to see people killing each other. But perhaps I'd have better luck this time? I opened the curtains. As I imagined, there was another riot; a group of people fighting back a bunch of soldiers from the army - or the police, I can't tell. They were loosing; the armed band was massacring them. I quickly looked away.

I sat again in my chair. This conflict is going too far. I hate wars and I always will. Why did this have to happen in my country? The only good thing I can find is that now I finally know how a Syrian girl of my same age feels. I understand her.

I took out my mobile phone and I called my Russian friend, Tatiana. She's my best friend, do I need to say more?

"Hi, Leysa," she told me.

"Hi... " I replied.

"Don't tell me... More riots?"

"You guessed it."

"It's in our news right now."

"It shouldn't, this has become everyday life here in Lugansk."

"Leysa, don't worry, wars don't last a lifetime."

"Syria's has been going on for four years now."

"Ukraine is not Syria, Leysa, please!"

She's right. Well, partly right. I'm sure that our lovely president (I'm being sarcastic here) is planning to turn Ukraine into the second Syria.

"Can you please call Poroshenko and tell him that?"

"I don't want to have anything to do with him," Tatiana answered.

"I know, I was kidding, Tat."

"So? How's the group going?"

I lead a group of peaceful protesters because I want to stop this madness.

"It's not going. We gave up. Well, they gave up, more likely."

"Oh, I'm sorry. But you know you can count on me for anything..."

"Thank you. You're the best friend I have."

"You too."

I hang up. I have just had the best idea for a poem. My teacher is going to be impressed. I erased the sentence I had written in the first place. I wanted another start.
______________________________________________

Leysa Wasylyk, Tatiana Yakovleva, story & art © SlytherinRoja .