Day of Blood

I remember the tiniest details of the moment when I first learned about what happened in Odessa four years ago. I was in a hurry so I understood nothing. In the evening I started reading. But even then I understood nothing.
I understood nothing on the next day. My newsfeed consisted of Navalnyy and other oppositionist nonsense drooling over the yellow-blue flag. I didn’t know what to read and how to understand it. I didn’t understand the people with beautiful faces who were saving dogs or were posting about people without hands who were drawing but on that day wrote about the “smoked hundred.” My friends, my acquaintances. To be sure, I didn’t realize what was happening, I thought there was some mistake, a misunderstanding. Because one can’t talk like that about living people.
The realization came later, after some time.

 

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