Valentyna had four children. They were trapped in the centre of the city surround by invading Russians. Her fourteen-year-old son, Bohdan, had gone out for an hour or so in search of some food. Her husband had volunteered to fight the Russians. She did not know if he was dead or alive.
There was a knock at the door. It was a nice man who said “Quick! Gather the children and we can take you out of the city and into a safer place.”
“But I have a son who may not be back for an hour or so.”
“It’s now or never,” said the man.
Valentyna made a decision. She gathered the three children and left.
“It is safer,” said the man, “for the children to travel with other children and you will be reunited at the point of arrival.”
The children left on a bus. Valentyna boarded another bus. She never saw her children again. They were taken and shot. She was bused to a Russian “Filtration Camp”.
(I had another story scheduled for today but have taken it down because it was about contemporary events and at present they are making me irrational. So I wrote another).
Salathiel Twigg woke up that morning and wasn’t quite sure how to fill in his day. Some days would fill in themselves; other days crawled on like they would never end. But today would not be a crawl-along day; it was going to be one of consequence.
After he showered and dressed (he always did that in the same boring order) he had breakfast. There was a cold sausage in the fridge left over from the previous day’s dinner. He microwaved it (just to take the chill off) and had it with a slice of buttered toast. He needed to go shopping for groceries and one of the things needed was tomato sauce. However, for the time being, he ate the unchilled sausage without any tomato sauce.
He could have used pickle because he had an unopened jar of chilli pickle in his pantry but he couldn’t get the lid off, and the get-the-lid-off-a-jar contraption was in a drawer for some reason in another room. So he couldn’t be bothered getting it and ate the sausage just as it was.
After that fairly run-of-the-mill opening, the day could only get better. And hopefully it did. After breakfast, he left his home to join his neighbours who were fighting the invading Russians. He had never done anything like that before and was more than a bit scared.
You know I’m sick to death of pancakes with caviar. So why did you serve it? I’d like to enjoy a proper meal for a change. Frankly, it’s not good enough. You know I’ve been extremely busy these days and need proper food to keep my energy levels up. Take this plate away and bring me decent food.
Gloria left to boil four eggs in the kitchen. She had a gun in her purse and was sorely tempted to use it. Common sense prevailed.
Why are you serving me boiled eggs? This is pathetic. I don’t know why anyone would have called you a cook in the first place. You’re fired.
Quite frankly, Gloria had had enough. At that point Vladimir Putin dropped dead.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” said Gloria as she stuffed the three remaining poisoned hard boiled eggs into her purse to use on Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov.