“Mom . . . Dad, are you home?” Hearing no response, I grab my phone and open the door to our apartment. All of my neighbors have noticed the incoming invasion and are sprinting down the staircase like a tsunami of humanity. Parents are carrying backpacks as they cling to the hands of their children. Shoving and shouting fills the hallway. I squeeze my way down the staircase right behind my neighbors. One senior falls on the way down. I am sorry I can’t help you. I need to find my parents. Huffing and puffing, I follow my neighbors to the backside of our faded-pink apartment complex.  I run straight down the road towards my parent’s convenience store as my neighbors get into their cars and drive west toward the loud honking. I turn left down another street as explosions echo in the city. Smoke from the surrounding city sizzles my lungs as I cough. I can’t stop running. I need to find my parents. I turn right and immediately see several Ukrainian civilians captured by some Russian soldiers dressed in camouflage uniforms. I hide behind a red brick wall as I hear the wailing of children as their parents are separated from them. I then hear the loud bursts of gunfire as the crying abruptly ends. . . 

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I open my eyes in shock and exhale as I look around my calm home in California, far away from any violence. I shut off the TV while a news reporter is speaking about the war in Ukraine. I walk over to my window and observe as fellow Americans drive by without any thought of the bloodshed that people around the world are experiencing. 

Dedicated to the people of Ukraine