Terrifying Truths in Chervonopartyzansk, Luhansk Region

By Elena Stepova
07.07.2014
Translated and edited by Voices of Ukraine

Reports from the zone of the ATO. This is not a story; this is the terrifying truth of our life here. Today the [people] gathering in the streets were silent. People just came, because they were used to the fact that in the evening there were gatherings, reports, news… but there was nothing to talk about, and no one really wanted to talk. This evening on a country road outside the village, a young 30-year-old guy died, a tractor driver who was driving home from the harvest and… was blown up by a mine. It was placed there by locals who knew the country roads, by insurgents, terrorists, or rather simply by morons who continue to destroy their neighbors, the city, the village, while fighting an imaginary enemy and hoping for help from an imaginary friend. They ran from the scene of the crime (people saw them) hanging their heads and with downcast eyes. In their eyes there was fear and stupidity. They understood that they had killed their own, the village’s, so they ran, like dogs having misbehaved. The car that was waiting for them in the courtyards also had local plates. RashaTV [epithet for RussiaTV, a neologism for Russian fascism=Rashism, and Rasha] did not come in time to capture the atrocities of the junta (had they arrived, they would have been ripped to shreds on the spot), insofar as the explosion was basically in the allotments, right in front of people’s eyes. And the people, seeing the tragedy, called an ambulance. It is impossible to reach the police here; they are most probably in another country or in another galaxy. Because the local newspapers print the telephone numbers of the insurgents (read terrorists) instead of the police as the only defenders of the city, so the people called them; they listened, promised to deal with the bloody junta, told a frightening story about organ harvesting and advised to watch that they [the organs] were not stolen from the deceased. There are no words. The guy didn’t drink, was a hard worker, a peasant who worked for the harvest. Blown up one street away from home. In my peaceful country, in my peaceful city… the bread ripens… soaked in blood…

Source: Elena Stepova FB

 

 

This entry was posted in "Voices" in English, English, Eyewitness stories, Social Media, South&Eastern Ukraine and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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