The Light

By Karolina Faynshteyn, Class of ’24 — Correspondent

Editor’s Note: Although The Talon usually does not publish works of fiction, we wanted to share this special piece written by Karolina Faynshteyn. According to Karolina, “Approximately two weeks ago, my cousin, Ruslana, called me and told me about how my younger cousin, Sasha, started dancing to their favorite song while they were in their basement taking shelter while Russian missiles flew into Odesa [Ukraine]. As I broke down listening to her story, I knew it shouldn’t go unheard. I could only hope to have half the strength they have, and they never fail to inspire and motivate me.” In “The Light,” Karolina assumes the voice of her cousin Ruslana; you also can read Karolina’s artist statement below her story.

Dark gray clouds of smoke and fiery masses of flames light up the once vibrant sky. My gaze follows seven Russian missiles flying through the sky carelessly, moments away from destroying houses, business buildings, and hospitals. Buildings that were once shades of beiges and blues devoured by lifeless black. No trail of life behind. The fire dances, smothering buildings of Odesa, the only home I’ve ever known. The blaring alarm is deafening, the sound of the end. I remember hearing about it in Начальная школа (Nachal-naya shko-la). My professor used to tell me if I heard it, run. Hearing that alarm and watching my beautiful city become piles of burnt wood, fallen trees, and homes ripped to shreds — an indescribable pain. 

We knew the routine by now: grab the duffels with food, first aid kit, battery packs, and valuables, my little brother and sister, Саша and Богдан (Sasha and Bogdan). I grab them from their beds, and follow Mama and Papa to the basement. We stumble down the creaky stairs of our apartment, grabbing the hands of crying бабушкиs (babu-sh-kas) and any stray cats we find along the way. When we pile into the basement, we set all of our belongings down. My sister wraps her little hand around my index finger, and I take my brother under my arm. We rush to our corner and spread a blanket over the concrete. They plop into my lap for me to comfort them. Half awake, my siblings melt into me. My sister’s baby pink night gown with satin bows lining the sides and sleeves crinkles as she curls into me. My brother’s sparkling eyes fixate on the photos on the wall of our family, taped on the concrete wall. Photos that should be framed with pride on the vibrant walls of our home. My parents try to get a hold of other family members around the city, but the murmur of all the people in the basement reveals that a rocket hit the signal tower, and we have no access to anyone on the outside.

Bogdan

My vision goes blurry as I stare at nothing for what feels like hours. I miss my best friend and the way my stomach would ache from laughing with her, drowning in my bed while blinding sun beams glisten on my cherry-blossom-pink walls, drinking чай and watching my comfort show, seeing my boyfriend who never failed to bring peonies for mama and me every time he came over. I miss the fresh crisp air of Odesa; the raspberry bushes lining the city filled with the sweetest raspberries only found in Ukraine. I miss my life. My cheek soaks up a tear that falls from my eye, still frozen with my siblings in my lap. 

Sasha

The aroma of пельмени (pel’meni) and burnt charcoal haunt my nostrils. Саша (Sasha) climbs out of my legs. I snap back to reality and watch her tiptoe to our belongings. She reaches for the CD player. The thing is practically the same size as her. She lugs it over to the outlet and places a CD in it that she found in her My Little Pony backpack. I recognize the song within the first second of just hearing the instrumental part. Кайфуем (Kay-fu-yem). The song that shaped my childhood and got everyone out of their seats and onto the dance floor at every family party. My friends and I would scream the words to it at the top of our lungs. It’s a song I forced my little sister to listen to from the moment she came into my life. 

Melodies of piano rings in everyone’s ears, immediately striking the memory of joy. The flute lights a fire in their soul with every note. When the words begin, it is as though the room has changed colors, from gray to pale.

In that moment everyone’s eyes lock on her and the room once filled with conversation about missiles and war is now completely silent. Her hazel eyes meet mine. Flashes of us dancing in our living room fill my head.  She tilts her head to the side and lowers it, still looking at me with a smirk. She knew I wasn’t in the mood, who would be? Her gaze is irresistible. One look at her and you want to give her the world. As mama grabs her to turn the music off, she reaches her hand out. “Dance with me, Rus,” she whispers. A sigh escapes from under my breath as I set my brother to the left of me and I stand up, towering over her. One neighbor, an elderly red haired woman wearing a bedazzled floral blouse starts clapping to the rhythm, while my sister spins herself around with my hand. Right before the war she was taking hip hop classes, and I know she wants to show off her moves to all of our neighbors. She stomps her little feet while moving her hips side to side. Twisting her body and shimmying her shoulders, her dirty blonde curls bounce with every move she makes. My dimples peak through as I listen to her adorable squeaky voice sing the lyrics to our song. I finally join in and belt out our favorite line, our different pitched voices clash together beautifully. The heart is beating because of love.

Ruslana

I’m in awe of my six year old sister’s strength. She has gone over two years without having a playdate with her friends, going to the площадка (plo-sh-adka), or going to school. I can’t process any of what has happened to my city. I can’t bear watching my parents hug my siblings and me tighter before bed, or starting sentences with “In case we get hit..”. Even after returning upstairs a few days later my mind stays on an endless loop of my sister’s innocent joy. She is the glistening star in a never ending sky of darkness. The only light I wish to see is the light coming from my sister, instead of the light from flames, burning my country to the ground.

Artist Statement, Karolina Faynstein, Class of 2024:

Writing “The Light”  made me realize how passionate I am about writing. The emotional roller coaster I went on while crafting my piece is only a fragment of the emotional distress my family has gone through for the past two years. Approximately two weeks ago, my cousin, Ruslana, called me and told me about how my younger cousin, Sasha, started dancing to their favorite song while they were in their basement taking shelter while Russian missiles flew into Odesa. As I broke down listening to her story, I knew it shouldn’t go unheard. I could only hope to have half the strength they have, and they never fail to inspire and motivate me. 

My mission with this was to make you feel. I need readers to fully understand the perspective of my cousin in her position by describing every detail. And as gruesome as it sounds, it’s all true. In the point of view of Ruslana, she is hopeless and numb at first, but it all changes when my six year old cousin Sasha enters the story. In Ruslana’s words, she is the light that never dims. Even in the middle of a war, she is able to dance around to music and get a room full of terrified and emotionally exhausted people to smile. This is where Ruslana begins to acknowledge that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and that no matter the outcome, she and her family will be okay-Knowing that is enough to keep her from giving up, or in other terms, leave the light on.

Writing a personal piece comes with challenges. I found that while writing my draft, I was storytelling rather than capturing the moment using sensory imagery and specific diction to set the scene. Along with this, I found myself using many “nothing” words, again trying to tell the story as it is rather than showing the reader. Once I was able to fix these, I found that my ability to capture the moment and dive deeper into what was happening, my writing had an incredible flow to it. I believe there are two phrases that shine in my work and truly embody the message. “Buildings that were once shades of beiges and blues all devoured by the lifeless black. No trail of life behind”. This hyperbole represents how Ruslana felt while watching the life being drained out of her city, and by using this literary device I want the reader to get chills and truly feel the impact of the sentence. Another sentence that I thought to beautifully capture the moment was “Shrill melodies of piano rings in everyone’s ears, immediately striking the memory of joy. The flute lights a fire in their soul with every note”. The sensory imagery here represents the power of the song, and how listening to it sparked something within Ruslana that gave her hope. 

I am beyond lucky to be able to share my family’s story. I hope my writing strikes emotion within you. I want you to feel every emotion my cousin felt and for you to feel like you were there. And as difficult as it is to imagine yourself in a war and how you would handle it, just imagine my 6 year old cousin dancing to an upbeat song, masking the sounds of bombs destroying the only home she’s ever known.