“Una imagen una historia"

Our teacher became the director of a summer camp for children.
We were happy for her success, and almost our entire class joined the first session.

The camp was located near a pine forest, on the outskirts of a small town, which we reached by rented bus.

Just thirty minutes from home, yet everything felt so different…
Clean, fresh air, quiet streets, a forest and a small river nearby. But most importantly, we were surrounded by friends, with a whole summer ahead of us.

Our parents had checked public pages of the town on all social media and ensured it would be safe for us.
The town was small and had hardly been affected by the attacks.

Now, we had no televisions, no computers, and we would spend time in nature.
And for a while, we could forget about the war in our country…

Two weeks at the camp flew by like a dream.

But one night, the air-raid siren wouldn’t stop wailing. We quickly woke up and sat on our beds, turning on the bedside lamps and waiting for further instructions.
Suddenly, the teacher burst into the room.
Her face was pale with fear, her anxiety apparent despite her efforts to hide it.

A chill ran down my spine.

We were told to turn off all the lights.
Yet something strange was happening: several lamps continued to shine, even though they weren’t plugged in. One lamp only went out after its cord was completely detached, while another kept glowing for a few more minutes.

Finally, the room was enveloped in darkness.

Fear and tension filled the space.
The silence was broken only by the sound of explosions and the hum of rockets.

The teacher was informed that a dark car had stopped near the camp fence, and a limping man got out, broke through the fence, and was heading toward the building.
The guard had left for lunch just minutes earlier, so the decision was made to hide on the roof of the two-story building, hoping to create the illusion that the camp was empty.

As we climbed onto the roof, we realized the intruder had already entered the building.

Our rooms had no locks. The neatly made beds clearly indicated that children lived here, making it obvious that this was a daytime camp.

The man was heading back outside.
What a relief.

A young woman, probably no older than 30, with pleasant features, turned toward him.
Perhaps she thought he was lost and approached to ask if he needed help.

The man pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it, and placed it over the woman’s head.
He muttered a few words while looking into her face, then calmly removed the handkerchief and walked toward the exit.

What we saw next shocked us all. It’s something we will never forget.

The streetlight provided enough illumination to reveal the woman’s face as it began aging before our eyes.
Her skin wrinkled and sagged; her face contorted to one side.
Her hair turned completely gray in an instant.

Her eyes—oh, her eyes! They were lifeless and empty, as if she had witnessed something unspeakably horrifying.
Even worse than what had just happened to her.

The unfortunate woman stared blankly into the void, devoid of any emotion. She didn’t even seem to realize she had lost her youth.

Ten minutes passed before someone finally dared to whisper:

“Did you all see that too?”

It was a rhetorical question that needed no answer.

We had just witnessed something terrible.
Something impossible to believe. Such things shouldn’t exist.

The teacher approached the woman, who, just twenty minutes earlier, had been young.
She was still standing there, her vacant gaze unchanging.

Her body trembled in the cool night air.
It was decided to take her inside the camp and offer her some warm tea.

She actually managed to take a sip.

By morning, we learned that the woman had disappeared. She had no bag, no phone, and there was no way to inform her relatives about what had happened.

We decided to search for her in the town.
First, we walked along the local beach, then down the main street.

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— “There she is,” someone said.

The woman was sitting on the sidewalk near a shop.
Her shoes were gone, and she was barefoot.
She was wearing a jacket she hadn’t had the night before—perhaps a kind local had given it to her.

We greeted her, but she didn’t lift her gaze from the pavement.

Would her family even recognize her now?
Who would believe such a thing could happen in a single night?
There was nothing left of the young woman she had been.

Why did she decide to help that stranger?
Who was he, and how did he possess such power?
We had no answers to these questions.

Topic-starter: @franyeligonzalez 📢📢NUEVO CONCURSO | "Una imagen, una historia" 👈👈.

I invite friends: @cranium , @andrea.boji

In the first comment, I will also add the original text in my native Ukrainian language, the one I wrote the post in (the English version is already the translation).