| General Fiction posted August 29, 2025 | Chapters: |
...21 22 -23- 24... 
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In Kyiv
A chapter in the book Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate
Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate: 23
by tfawcus
| Background The scene is war-torn Ukraine. Dmitri has just arrived from Lviv. He is in love with Leila, whose aunt summoned her to Turkiye because her mother is dying. He is desperately chasing after her. |
The tide of disembarking passengers swept Dmitri down the platform and into the main concourse. Kyiv was on an altogether grander scale than Lviv, classically symmetrical and austere, and lacking the old-world grace and charm of the smaller provincial station. A crackle of announcements filled the air, and distant rumblings suggested a ceaseless thrum of activity. His ears rang with the din of departures, and he found it hard to focus on the mass of people criss-crossing the floor like ants before a storm. In Lviv, he had felt dazzled, but here he felt dwarfed.
Despite the threat of air raids, the station still operated with a veneer of normality. Signs of the war raging in the east were subtle, mostly manifested in long delays and frequent malfunctions of automated systems. Passengers burdened with luggage queued without complaint, seemingly resigned to the realities of daily life in a country at war. He had no idea where to go and stood feeling helpless as he tried to establish his bearings. After wandering aimlessly for a while, he decided, as a last resort, to ask one of the railway staff where he could buy a bus ticket.
Despite the threat of air raids, the station still operated with a veneer of normality. Signs of the war raging in the east were subtle, mostly manifested in long delays and frequent malfunctions of automated systems. Passengers burdened with luggage queued without complaint, seemingly resigned to the realities of daily life in a country at war. He had no idea where to go and stood feeling helpless as he tried to establish his bearings. After wandering aimlessly for a while, he decided, as a last resort, to ask one of the railway staff where he could buy a bus ticket.
'Where are you trying to get to?'
'Istanbul.'
'Then you need the Central Bus Station. It's about half an hour away.' She gestured to one of the exits. 'The bus stop is over there.'
Inevitably, he had just missed a bus. The sky was overcast, and a misty shroud hung over the city, further dampening his spirits. The situation wasn't improved when he reached the bus station. Half the population of Kyiv appeared to be travelling west to avoid the war. He joined a lengthy queue at the ticket office and soon realised it was going to take several hours to reach the front of it, so glacial was the rate of progress.
Furthermore, he was surrounded by dour, uncommunicative people, quite unlike his overnight companions on the train. The prospect of being stuck on a bus with them for thirty hours filled him with dread.
It was mid-afternoon when he reached the ticket office window. The clerk, weary but polite, asked for his documents. Dmitri presented his passport and ID.
'What about your military registration document? I can't issue a ticket without seeing that.'
'But I'm only seventeen.'
'Yes, but one should have been issued automatically when you turned seventeen. If there was a reason why that didn't happen, you need to apply for it now.' She pushed the identity documents back under the glass shield. 'Until then, I can't help you. Besides, all buses to Istanbul are fully booked for the next three days, and by then, according to your passport, you'll be eighteen, and you'll need special dispensation to travel.
Dmitri clutched the counter and leant forward. 'I have to go to Istanbul. Don't you understand? It's a matter of life and death.'
The clerk lowered her eyes, avoiding the ferocity of his gaze, and in a voice somewhat louder than necessary, called out, 'Next, please.'
The man behind Dmitri pushed past, leaving him standing, helpless, and with tears of frustration misting his eyes. He left the building with no idea what to do next. The rain was now coming down steadily. He hunched his shoulders and, with his head stooped against the wind, set off down the street. Not having any better idea, he headed back towards the central train station. As far as he could see, his only option was to go home to Kalynorad to register for military service, and as Pavla had suggested, to get documentary proof that his sister's death had been a direct result of the war. Only then could he obtain the travel exemption he'd need after his eighteenth birthday.
He had been walking for a little over half an hour when his thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched wail that rose and fell with alarming persistence. He paused, unsure what it meant, when a young couple with a child in tow rushed past, shouting, 'Quick! Air Raid!' He lost no time in following them as they raced to the nearest metro station.
Dmitri followed the crowd down into the entrails of the city, where people sat in resigned silence on benches or on their own bags, as though they had done this countless times before. He found a place against the wall and lowered himself, hugging his rucksack to his chest. The day outside had been bleak enough with its leafless trees and ashen skies, but here it seemed bleaker still. The strip lighting buzzed overhead, lending the faces around him a washed-out pallor. Somewhere, a child whimpered until hushed by its mother.
For a while, he sat with his head bent, letting the drone of voices rise and fall around him: half-caught phrases of worry about relatives, rumours of missile strikes, the price of bread. He might have remained invisible, but eventually the man beside him spoke.
'Travelling alone?'
Dmitri looked up. The man was a few years older than him and worn thin by hunger or worry. A soldier's cap sat on his knees, and his hair was cropped close.
'Yes,' Dmitri said quietly.
The man studied him for a moment, then gave a faint, wry smile, as though recognising something of himself. 'No family?'
Dmitri didn't answer, but the words hit home. It was true. He had no family. His father, killed in the war; his sister, blown up before his eyes; his mother disappeared, presumed dead. He thought of Elena, waiting in the lodge, not knowing where he was. But mostly, he thought of Leila, alone in Türkiye. Or was she alone? Who had cut off her phone call to Elena? Someone she knew, and that was for sure, and it had been someone she didn't want to see. Her father, perhaps? He'd have to try again to make contact when he returned to the central station. What a fool he'd been, forgetting to pack his charger.
He saw the soldier staring at him and, ignoring the question about family, he asked, 'Can you tell me? Does this line go to the Kyiv-Pasazhyrskyi station?'
'Yes, there should be a train in about ten minutes. There's a self-service ticket machine up there—if it's working.' He nodded towards the exit. 'Mostly, everything's out of action these days.'
Shortly afterwards, the all-clear sounded, and the crowd began gathering coats and shouldering bags. The soldier passed Dmitri on the way back from the ticket machine. Dmitri gave him a thumbs-up.
Another voice disappearing up the stairs said, 'False alarm again. Looks like some other poor bastards copped it this time.'
***
When he arrived, Dmitri had a short walk across Vokzal'na Square to reach the central railway station. It was still raining, and the sky was darkening towards evening. He paused at the main post office. Still guilt-ridden about helping himself to Elena's jam money, he slipped three hundred hryvni into an envelope, scribbled a short note, and handed it over the counter. A weight fell from his shoulders as he headed for the main concourse in search of a public phone.
He tried Leila's number first, though with little hope of a reply, and while he waited with the phone to his ear, he glanced around. The glass roof of the station concourse was blurred with grime, and the neon strips cast a harsh, grey light. Even the pigeons looked dejected.
He had better luck with Elena's number. On hearing the warmth of her voice, he felt the safety of the lodge surge around him.
'Elena—it's me. I'm in Kyiv. I wanted to let you know I'm safe, and that I've posted the jam money back to you.'
The relief in her voice was palpable. 'You dear boy! You shouldn't have bothered. The main thing is that you're safe.'
'Yes, and I've made some money selling drawings. Enough for a ticket to Istanbul, but I have to go to Kalynorad first, like Pavla said.'
'But Dmitri, Leila is quite capable of looking after herself. She’ll probably be back within a couple of weeks. Please! Why don’t you give up this wild goose chase and come back to Velinkra?'
Dmitri pursed his lips and replaced the receiver in its cradle, tightened the strap of his rucksack and tried to shake off the feeling of homesickness that had swept over him. He had no bed waiting for him, no fire, no warm meal. Only the station, grey and forbidding, and the faint hope that he might be able to find somewhere to sleep for the night. How inviting Velinkra seemed. For a moment, he had considered giving in to the temptation, but no—he was a man now and intended to prove it. He plunged his hands into his jacket pockets and hit something soft and squishy—the last of the Lviv French fries. He dropped them in a nearby rubbish bin and wiped his hand on the back of his trousers. He wasn't that desperate yet.
As he mingled with the thinning crowd, a familiar sound halted him. It was the strum of a guitar, tentative at first, then surer, winding its way through the station's echoes. The tune was unmistakable. Elena had sung it at the lodge, almost under her breath, as if the words were solely hers to own. Hearing it now in this place intensified the guilt he felt and brought a lump to his throat. He had difficulty holding back a tear.
In the distance, he could see the guitarist from the Lviv train, with his head bent and his fingers coaxing the melody out with a mixture of care and defiance. A few coins lay scattered in the velvet lining of his guitar case. Dmitri stood listening until the last note trembled into silence. Then the man looked up and grinned in recognition.
'You again,' he said. 'I thought you were on your way to Istanbul.'
'Not yet, I'm afraid. The buses are all booked for the next few days,' Dmitri replied and, jerking himself out of the doldrums, he added, 'Do you want a coffee? I think we both may need one.'
They crossed to a kiosk that was still open. The lights threw a fluorescent glow across the tiles. Dmitri paid for two cups, and they sat on a low bench, steam rising between them. They had never bothered to exchange names on the train, and there was an awkward silence.
The guitarist extended his hand. 'I'm Oleh.' He gave a bitter laugh, 'The blessed one. As if.'
Dmitri gave a low bow and responded, 'Dmitri ... dedicated to the goddess of harvest and fertility, though I've got nothing to eat and my girlfriend's in Türkiye.'
Oleh clapped him on the back. 'Never mind. We'll survive.'
They chatted about nothing in particular, the journey, the weather and the state of the country, but Oleh did most of the talking. Dmitri's thoughts were far away. Elena's song still lingered in his mind.
'Come on,' Oleh said at last, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. 'I know a place we can get through the night. It's nothing fancy, but it's dry. And if the sirens go again, it's safer than here.'
Dmitri nodded. The night suddenly seemed a little less empty. As they set out together, his thoughts turned inward to the long night ahead and what the future might bring.
 Recognized |
Note: I have a busy week ahead. Chapter Twenty-Four may be a while in coming.
Characters
Dmitri Zahir, a teenage boy recovering from catatonia after the death of his twin sister in a bombing.
Mira Zahir, his twin sister, who was killed in a bomb attack.
Elena Prishtina, a volunteer carer who looked after Dmitri, aiding his recovery.
Leila Haddad, a Syrian girl employed by Elena whom Dmitri has fallen in love with.
Pavla Miret, an art teacher who has been giving Dmitri lessons.
Oleh, a guitarist that Dmitri met on the train from Lviv.
Photo by Nadzeya Matskevich on Unsplash
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Characters
Dmitri Zahir, a teenage boy recovering from catatonia after the death of his twin sister in a bombing.
Mira Zahir, his twin sister, who was killed in a bomb attack.
Elena Prishtina, a volunteer carer who looked after Dmitri, aiding his recovery.
Leila Haddad, a Syrian girl employed by Elena whom Dmitri has fallen in love with.
Pavla Miret, an art teacher who has been giving Dmitri lessons.
Oleh, a guitarist that Dmitri met on the train from Lviv.
Photo by Nadzeya Matskevich on Unsplash
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