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Hard to read so many awful stories in succession, even if they only last 2 to 3 pages. This is a book that needs time between readings.

We cherished each cow..After the umpteenth bombing we were left without our cart & I walked in front of our herd, tied to the bull, Vaska. He had a ring in his nose with a rope tied to it, & I tied myself to the end of the rope. For a long time the cows could not get used to the bombings..After the shelling it was hard to round them up. But if the bull went on the road they all followed him, &the bull obeyed only me.

My childhood ended with the first gunshots.
We left Hatimsk (sp?) on a cart. .The bombing started. My sister was holding two nice apples & we began fighting over them..My mother yelled Hide! but we were quarreling over the apples. I said, Give me at least one apple or I'll die without having tasted them. She gave me one-the nicest one. Then the bombing stopped. I didn't eat the lucky apple.

At school I went to the sixth grade. During the lessons of literature and history, the teachers talked to us, and we sat and knitted socks, mittens, tobacco pouches for the army. We knitted, and memorized poetry, recited Pushkin in chorus. We were waiting for the war to end. It was such a cherished dream that Mama and I were even afraid to talk about it.

Our house burned down. The garden burned down. There were baked apples hanging on the apple tree. We gathered them and ate them.
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-- Varema Presnikova Kaminska, 6 years old. Now, a worker. (Spelling of name unclear; this is an audiobook.)

She lay for two days & couldn't walk, and on the third they took her away on a stretcher. There was only one way out of the camp: thru the chimney. Straight to heaven. . At night, she & I talked. "Does an angel come to you?" I wanted to tell her about my angel. "No. Mama comes to me. She always wears a white blouse. I remember this blouse she had, with cornflowers embroidered on it."
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There was only one way out of the camp: through the chimney. Straight to heaven.