Nikolai Gogol

Nikolai didn’t think this war would affect him. It was something to see on the news, something to ignore as whispers spread through town. Even when the elementary school was bombed and people started leaving, he could still convince himself that it was just a small storm from the remainder of a hurricane, chalking it up to coincidence and town paranoia.

Now, standing half-petrified out his back door, he could clearly watch the large complex of homes across the street—ones he had grown up with—being invaded, as the troops kick down doors and bash in windows to round up the remaining people hiding indoors.

The enemy was here. He could see his friends and family being detained and sent away, packed into trucks like sardines, and he was still hiding behind a building—untouched, but thoroughly struck by this new reality in front of him. Then, there’s a crash from the inside of his home, snapping him awake again. Fear coursed through his system as he slinked away, unnoticed by the troops.

He had nowhere to run, no plan of action, other than to be away from here, nauseous from the sight of his parents and the guilt following his escape. However, when traveling through the forest near his home, he suddenly bumped into someone. Spotting a glimpse of the familiar color of the soldier uniforms, he instantly fears the worst, and he quickly put his hands up in surrender, face going pale.

“Wait, h-hey, wait—! I give in, please don’t shoot!”

Nikolai didn’t even realize that you were a simple foreigner, his hands shaking as he kneels on the ground.