SOMETIMES THE IMAGES of war are just numbing. The brutality and horror of victims fleeing the ruins of a bombedout school in Zhytomyr or Stanytsia Luhanska, the splintered wreckage of what was once a quiet residential street in Mykolaiv, the flames of an apartment building in Mariupol—it all becomes almost incomprehensible. Scenes of bodies being buried in mass graves and families fleeing their homes carrying the meager remains of their lives in once-cheerful pink backpacks or dreary plastic trash bags are so heartbreaking we are unable to even find sorrow’s edges.

I stumbled upon these notes from Mariupol, by journalist Nadezhda Sukhorukova, one day, and was awakened once again. They commanded my attention, as I hope they will yours.

Glory to Ukraine!

#mariupol #hope I go out on the street during breaks between bombs. I need to walk the dog. She is constantly sneezing, shaking, and hiding behind my feet. I always want to sleep. My yard sur-rounded by many stories is quiet and dead. I’m no longer afraid to look around.

Opposite the entrance of the hundred-fifth house. The flame devoured five floors and slowly chews the sixth. The fire in the room burns neatly, like in a fireplace. Black tiled windows stand without glass. From them, like tongues, curtains fall out of them. I look at this calmly and cursed.

I’m sure I’m going to die soon. That’s a matter of days. In this city, everyone is constantly waiting for death. I just wish she wasn’t so scary. Three days ago, a friend of my oldest nephew visited us and told us that it was a direct hit into the fire department. The rescuers have lost their lives. One woman’s hand, leg and head tore off. I dream of my body parts staying still, even after an air bomb blast.

I don’t know why, but I think this is important. Although, on the other hand, there will still be no burial during combat. This is how the police responded to us when we caught them on the street and asked what to do with our friend’s dead grandmother. They advised to put it on the balcony. I wonder how many balconies are dead bodies lying on?

Our house on Mira Avenue is the only one without direct hits. He was hit by shells twice, glass flew out in some apartments, but he was hardly injured and looks lucky compared to other houses.

The whole yard is covered with a few layers of ash, glass, plastic and metal shackles. Me trying not to look at the iron fool flying into the playground. I think it’s a rocket, or maybe it’s gone. I don’t care, it’s just uncomfortable. In the third floor window, I see someone’s face and it’s chasing me. Turns out I’m afraid of living people.

My dog is starting to howl and I understand they are going to shoot again now. I’m standing outside during the day, and there’s a cemetery silence around me. There are no cars, no voices, no children, no grandmothers on the benches. Even the wind is dead. A few people on here though. They are lying on the side of the house and in the parking lot covered with upper clothes. I don’t want to look at them. I’m afraid I’ll see someone I know.

All life in my city is now mumbling in the basements. She looks like a candle in our ward. There’s nothing to do to put her out. Any vibration or wind and darkness will come. I try to cry but I can’t. I feel sorry for myself, my family, my husband, my neighbors, friends. I go back to the basement and listen to a nasty iron cross there. It’s been two weeks, and I can’t believe there was once another life.

People continue to sit in the basement in Mariupol. Every day, it’s harder for them to survive. They have no water, food, light, they can’t even go outside because of constant shelling. Mariupol residents must live.

Help them out. Tell me about it. Let everyone know that the killing of peaceful people continue.