| General Fiction posted October 16, 2025 | Chapters: |
...29 30 -31- 32... 
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Heading East
A chapter in the book Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate
Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate: 31
by tfawcus
| Background The scene is war-torn Ukraine. Dmitri is trying to rejoin Leila, whom he thinks is in Turkiye. However, unbeknownst to him, she has been pursued by her father to Velinkra, in the Carpathian Mountains. |
As Dmitri left Sophia Square, he heard the deep, resonant chimes of the cathedral clock strike four. He hadn’t realised it was getting so late. As luck would have it, a tourist had left a map on a park bench, and after studying it, he reckoned it would take him three-quarters of an hour to get back to the railway station if he didn’t dawdle. He had already found out that a midnight train ran to Kalynorad, and that a platskartny ticket would cost him about ten of his precious euros.
The watery sun and the skeletal trees gave the streets a washed-out appearance, like a face that had dried its tears and was now gathering itself together to continue with life, no matter what might lie ahead. Dmitri was glad to be on the move again and in the right direction, though he wondered how much of his home town still stood and what he would find there.
As he walked, his thoughts drifted to the offer he had received: a thousand euros for an oil painting of the Cossack horseman. What an opportunity that had been! If only he had the skill to execute such a commission. Yet he remembered Pavla’s first question in her studio: did he want his painting to complement the décor of drawing rooms, or to reveal the harsh truths of war? He had made his choice. Anything else would be a prostitution of his art. Tempting, though. He was learning that a little prostitution was essential if he were to survive. He told himself that the sketches of Bohdan Khmelnytsky’s warhorse were at least on the right subject—and thirty euros were, after all, thirty euros. He still had a few of the sketches left that he might try to tout around the railway station.
He entered the main concourse with a light heart and filled with optimism. It was teeming with people anxious to get home after a hard day’s work, and he had to shoulder his way through the crowd to the currency exchange kiosk to convert his euros into hryvnia. During the transaction, he heard a familiar sound. His jaw tightened. It was that scoundrel again. It had to be. He picked up his money and headed towards the music.
Sure enough, there was Oleh, strumming the chords of a popular folk tune and garnering a few coins for his trouble. Dmitri watched from a distance, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to make a scene, but he wanted his money back. He edged closer, and as the song came to an end, he threw a couple of kopiykas into Oleh’s guitar case. Oleh looked up, and a grin spread over his face.
‘Dmitri! So good to see you again. I went out to get two pirozhki from the bakery for our breakfast, but when I got back to the cellar, you’d already gone. What have you been up to all day, my friend?’
The bare-faced cheek of it! Dmitri could scarcely believe his ears. ‘You lying bastard,’ he said. ‘Someone saw you take the money out of my wallet. An old man on the bunk opposite. He said I wasn’t your first victim, and I wouldn’t be the last. Now, how’s about you give it back before I call the police?’
‘Steady on. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly. If you mean that old fellow with rheumy eyes and three days’ growth of stubble, I’ve no doubt he was your thief. I’ve met his type before. Anyway, how would he know about other victims? I only arrived yesterday. With you. On the Lviv overnight train.’
Dmitri wavered. Oleh had a point, and there was such an aggrieved look in his eye.
‘Yes, but this isn’t your first visit to Kyiv. You know your way around, and you’ve stayed in that place before.’
‘Look, if you don’t trust me, why don’t we go back there and confront him?’
‘Two reasons: he might not be there, and I’m on the midnight train to Kalynorad, or will be when I’ve bought a ticket.’
‘Kalynorad? What a coincidence. I’m going to Kramatorsk when I’ve made enough money. It’s further down the line.’
‘I know that,’ Dmitri said. ‘I’ve been there.’
Oleh scooped up the coins in his guitar case and started counting. ‘I’ve made a killing today. It seems as though I might already have enough.’
He stuffed the money into his pocket. ‘Well I never! Some cheapskate’s thrown a couple of kopiykas in.’ He favoured Dmitri with an ingenuous grin. ‘Come now, friend. Let me buy you a coffee and a pirozhki to make up for the one you missed out on this morning.’
Dmitri hesitated, still wary of Oleh, but the promise of a meat pie and a hot drink was tempting. He was curious to find out why the guitarist was heading for Kramatorsk, even closer to the battlefront than Kalynorad. He began to form the absurd notion that travelling together with this streetwise shyster might be safer than travelling alone. More fun, anyway, providing he kept his hand on his wallet. He still had a nasty feeling that Oleh’s ‘killing’ included the proceeds of the morning theft.
The idea of travelling together took root more firmly as they chatted over their meal. There was much to like about Oleh as he’d already found out on the journey from Lviv, and it wasn’t long before he made his proposition.
‘You’re kidding, of course. Why would you want to travel with a two-bit conman and a thief? That’s what you take me for, isn’t it?’
Dmitri looked him in the eye. ‘Let’s just say a plausible rogue. But better than travelling alone, don’t you think?’
That was the crux of it, and not only for Dmitri. They were two vulnerable kids heading towards the warzone. Fair prey for any unscrupulous vagabonds, and they both knew it.
***
After they’d purchased their tickets, there were still several hours before midnight. Oleh was quick to notice a crowd milling about near Platform Two.
‘Looks like there’s a problem over there. A delay, I expect. That’s usually what it’s about. Best kind of audience. Dozens of people at a loose end, waiting for Godot.’
‘Waiting for who?’
‘Never mind. Just a play I once saw. Nonsense, really. A bit like life. Anyway, let's go over there and try our luck. You can stick a couple of your drawings on the railing, and I’ll play a lively tune to help cheer them up.’
Oleh was right. It wasn’t long before they had attracted a small crowd. More coins fell into the guitar case, and two soldiers started to clap in time with the music. Oleh took the hint and struck up a Cossack dance tune. One of the soldiers folded his arms and squatted down on his knees, but when he tried to kick his leg out, he fell over backwards. There were roars of laughter. Then a couple of younger men took the floor. It was obvious they knew what they were doing, and soon they were spinning around like professionals, urged on by the clapping. Oleh played faster and faster, stirring the crowd into a frenzy.
No one was interested in buying Dmitri’s drawings, so he slipped away towards the pay phones to make a call. He felt guilty about the way he had hung up on Elena the day before and wanted to make amends. However, there was no reply. Odd, he thought. At this time of night, she should have been at home. He left a brief message letting her know that he was on his way to Kalynorad and that he’d found a travelling companion. How he wished he could also have contacted Leila. He wondered what was happening to her in Türkiye and whether she was all right. As he hung up the phone, he whispered, 'Don't worry, my love. I’ll soon be with you. I promise.’
A voice behind him said, ‘Not if you’re going to Kalynorad, friend.’
He spun around. A soldier stood hunched against the cold with his collar up and a cigarette dangling from his lips. Dmitri was annoyed about his privacy being invaded, but curiosity outweighed his irritation. ‘What do you mean?’ he snapped abruptly.
The soldier took the cigarette from his mouth and said, ‘There’s been a Russian breakthrough to the east of Kramatorsk and reports of heavy shelling in the Kalynorad area. If you’re planning to travel that way, I’d think again if I were you.’
‘Well, you’re not me.’
He brushed past the soldier and headed back across the concourse.
‘Rude bastard,’ the soldier muttered, spitting a strand of tobacco from between his teeth.
On his way back, Dmitri passed a food kiosk that was still open, and he bought a few boiled eggs and packets of noodles, remembering the communal sharing on the journey from Lviv.
However, there was little camaraderie on the train heading east. People treated each other with suspicion. They spoke in whispers and glanced around uneasily. As the train bore through the night, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense. Towns and villages were blacked out, so it was difficult to gauge exactly where they were, and frequent unexplained stops added to the uncertainty. Not only that, but distant flashes and rumbles, which under normal circumstances might have been passed off as thunderstorm activity, took on a more sinister meaning.
Oleh strummed a few cautious chords, careful to steer clear of Russian folk songs. For a while, it lifted the mood, until a voice from the dark growled for silence.
Shortly before dawn, there was a blinding flash and the clatter of shrapnel hitting the side of the carriage. The train screeched to a standstill. There was a deathly silence, then the sound of voices outside, shouting.
‘Quick!’ Oleh said. ‘We have to get out of here.’
Dmitri dropped from the top bunk and landed awkwardly, twisting his ankle on a piece of luggage. He winced with pain but had the presence of mind to grab his bag before limping to the door. Oleh helped him down, and Dmitri slung an arm over his shoulder. Together they hobbled away across the steppe, half-running and half-stumbling like boys in a three-legged race.
Ten minutes later, there was another blinding flash, followed by a second blast. This time, it was a direct hit. The two lads were buffeted by a powerful blast of wind that almost knocked them over, and a sharp stench of sulphur engulfed them.
Oleh reeled back, burying his nose in the crook of his arm. ‘Jeez! What a pong.’
It's a good thing we weren’t any closer,’ Dmitri said.
‘You can say that again!’
‘It’s a good thing …’
They both burst into hysterical laughter. The emotional release left Dmitri feeling drained. He was suddenly aware that he was shaking and that his pulse was racing.
Oleh had gone white. He was staring into the distance at the column of smoke as it rose lazily into the sky. A light breeze caught the top, bending it towards them.
‘It looks like a genie released from a bottle,’ he said.
An orange glow flickered at the base of the column, and to begin with, he thought it was the first rays of the sun, but it quickly grew brighter, the smoke thickened, and a faint crackling sound reached their ears.
 Recognized |
#12 October 2025 |
Main Characters in the Chapter:
Dmitri Zahir, a teenage boy trying to reach the love of his life.
Mira Zahir, his twin sister, who was killed in a bomb attack.
Elena Prishtina, a volunteer carer who looked after Dmitri during his recovery from catatonia.
Leila Haddad, a Syrian girl Dmitri fell in love with.
Pavla Miret, an art teacher who gave Dmitri lessons.
Oleh, a guitarist that Dmitri met on his way to Kyiv
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Dmitri Zahir, a teenage boy trying to reach the love of his life.
Mira Zahir, his twin sister, who was killed in a bomb attack.
Elena Prishtina, a volunteer carer who looked after Dmitri during his recovery from catatonia.
Leila Haddad, a Syrian girl Dmitri fell in love with.
Pavla Miret, an art teacher who gave Dmitri lessons.
Oleh, a guitarist that Dmitri met on his way to Kyiv
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© Copyright 2025. tfawcus All rights reserved.
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