"Cursed, Her Name"

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"If I die without spitting information to you and you Russians, then so be it. My death would factor into the thousands before me and telling you a single thing would mean everything we've fought for.. All these deaths have been meaningless..."

- SGT. Danylo Malasenko, 54th Reconnaissance Regiment

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Cursed, the young girl volunteered to fight. For her homeland, for something that was at constant bombardment of disparity and the horrors of war. The gray skies, thickened by smoke, she looked to the burning sun as it cascaded, eventually everything falling into darkness. The embers of the growing flames soar into the starry night as it emits almost a beacon of hope. Until the ember runs dry and disappears into the thick air. Where was hope now?

Cursed, as she can only hear her heavy panting now as everything else was blocked out by the constant ringing noises that echoed into her ears. Her vision, blurred and shaken as the ground beneath her tired feet trembled. The ear-piercing screams of her partner, drowned out by the explosions and gunfire. With the temporary comfort of the vehicle that covered the bullets that could potentially have her name on it, the screaming stopped as one last explosion was heard. She screamed out her name, but no response was heard back.

Cursed, she was tired and homesick, leaving no choice but to move on was certainly something she loathed. Moving on, physically, was now her next step as the large, glass building caught her eye. It soared above the thick black smoke. A perfect nest. And maybe perhaps, she could finally be at peace. Even for just a moment in her serenity.

Cursed, looking through the scope as she eyed her next target gave her the place as the Grim Reaper. This made her feel sick to the stomach, having this sort of responsibility. Yet, it was her job. Picking, choosing your targets. To rid the filth that poisoned and littered the Earth. Knowing she'd have to press the trigger knowing that's one less life off this hell. Though, she made a couple friends in this building. A sergeant from the Canadian forces that is lost and wounded yet helped her with spotting. She even helped to tend to his wounds, giving him the remaining first aid supplies she had. Hell, he didn't even notice he was bleeding until Danylo noticed. As well as an Ukrainian MG gunner who lost her unit. The MG overlooked the building with her PKM but was quite bored. She knew very well that from the height they were on wouldn't reach down to the plaza beneath us if she were to shoot. Yet, the company filled up the emptiness Danylo had felt as her name was not called out before.

Cursed, finding herself falling from the building onto a rooftop. Her frail body twisting and turning in ways as it felt like she danced with the wind until she fell on her back on a rough surface. Danylo landed hard with a grunt, her back in immense pain as trickles of blood from small cuts stained her under shirt. She let go of the rope. The Russians ambushed their building and she and the Canadian sergeant fled out of the building by jumping out of a window with a rope just short of the roof beneath them as the MG stayed behind to cover us. It wouldn't end well. She never got the chance to ask them their name. A lesson learned that everyone who could potentially be close to her, would just be expendable or a laying corpse among thousands. The war grounds were bestowed with the bodies and her friends would just add to the numbers. Knowing she couldn't stay here, she tried to stand up. A bullet piercing into her lower iliac region as she felt number than before. Her eyes became restless. Her limp body falling to the graveled ground as a tall silhouette appeared before her, holding a pistol up to her head. She had two choices. Fight or accept it.

Cursed, everything was black. Her eyes woke open, opening and closing. God, it was bright. The sight, two men wrestling each other, fighting as grunts and blows were heard. A scream echoed now. Who was that? It sounded desperate; it needed help. Was it one of the guys fighting in front of her? Everything looked blurry. She must've hit her head hard. One of the men knocked out the other, dragging their limp and inanimate body against the gravel. She could hear the rocks moving against it yet didn't know who was. Her eyes trailed the standing man. Her senses seem to be dying out until it took her a moment until she realized they were on a roof. The man gripped the other, holding him by the collar as he held him over the edge before the let go of his very existence. She fluttered her eyes open and close, her vision becoming clear. The man, held by the collar and was hung over the edge, regained his consciousness. She saw his weary hazel eyes glance over to her. Beads of blood and sweat snaked down his face and stained his uniform. The girl watched him as he cracked a small smile though she knew he was scared to death. He was young, just like her. The both of them didn't need to fight this war but it was the right thing to do. His expressions said everything: regret to freedom. She moved her trance to his scarred and bruised lips now, seeing he had mouthed the English words 'Thank you. Win the war.' It was not even a second later the Russian released his grip slowly.