Ivan Kupala

by Armada Volya

Asya spun back, but the door was already shut and wouldn’t open. She put her back against the door and slid to the floor, covered her face, and tried not to cry. She failed. The tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto her jeans. She felt so small, but not small enough. She wanted to shrink into a ball of dust and hide in some corner, where nothing bad could ever find her. Then she wanted that corner to be in her room, where she would be safe.
No. She wiped away her tears in two angry swipes. I have to find a way out of here. She searched frantically for windows but saw nothing. She tried the door again, but it wouldn’t budge. Panicked, she ran, hands forward, and slammed her opened palms into a wall, then lowered her forehead to the rough surface as tears sprang from her eyes.
Asya slid back to the floor. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, it registered that the children didn’t even stir. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. None of it seemed real, but she could feel the roughness of the earthy floor and smell the moist, stale air.
All right, if it’s not real, then I’ll just wake up or something and none of it will matter anyway. If it's real, I have to come up with some plan. She looked around herself one more time, trying to find any ideas for a possible escape.

38 pages, Kindle Edition

Published November 13, 2015

About the author

I was born in Ukraine and raised in six countries. When asked why I moved so much, I have a tendency to answer, "My father was a gypsy." which is untrue, but hey, who's going to check, right?
Warning: I commit atrocious acts when my next dose of chocolate is on the line. I might even turn your unicorn into a vampire and then kill it with its own horn.