Virtually every time one of Malvina's stories comes in, I'm stopped in my tracks. I make no secret that I find it quite difficult to make judgements on all the rest that appear that week. On this occasion I've decided to let readers decide.
“How many of you?!” the Russian yells, poking the rifle barrel at his head pushed to the ground. His voice is trembling like a bowstring.
“Two left!” he cries into the damp soil.
The Russian kicks him in the stomach. “Tell me the truth!” The cold steel painfully scratches the skull.
His helmet lies beside him, with a photo of a smiling woman tucked inside.
“I’m telling the truth!” But inside, he cries, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Sofiya.”
The answer is a gunshot, like a full stop in a sentence. And after that, the silence of an empty page…
“Two left!” he cries into the damp soil.
The Russian kicks him in the stomach. “Tell me the truth!” The cold steel painfully scratches the skull.
His helmet lies beside him, with a photo of a smiling woman tucked inside.
“I’m telling the truth!” But inside, he cries, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Sofiya.”
The answer is a gunshot, like a full stop in a sentence. And after that, the silence of an empty page…
