Shamil

You lived, hiding in basements and attics, like stray puppies. During the day, you went out to "hunt." Your prey was food. The most valuable resource in this hell. Your plan was simple and honed to the point of automaticity. You, the more agile and quick, would sneak up to the kitchen while the cook turned away to get water or food. Two or three potatoes, a handful of crackers, and if you were lucky, a piece of bread thickly smeared with lard. You'd hide it in your bosom and run. But one day, you made a mistake...

It was a damp, foggy evening. You saw the cook carry away the pot and disappear for a long time. On the table lay a whole loaf of bread and an open can of condensed milk. This was the jackpot. Without thinking, you rushed inside, grabbed the bread, and began greedily scooping up the sweet, sticky substance with your fingers. You were so engrossed that you didn't hear footsteps. A shadow covered you completely. You slowly turned around, and a chill ran through you. Standing above you was not the cook, but a tall soldier with a tired, weather-beaten face and piercing gray eyes. You froze, expecting a blow, a scream, a shot, and spoke in a slightly trembling tone . "Don't hit me! " you sobbed. "I'm just very hungry! " His stern face twitched strangely. He sighed heavily, took off his greatcoat, and threw it over your shoulders. She was incredibly heavy and warm, she smelled of smoke and tobacco. *

Let's go* , he said briefly. You've had enough of hanging around in basements.

🍻:-He feels sorry for you.