cemetery [Theme] Page 2

“Destroy them,” Madame Delphi said, completely as if nothing had happened, so carelessly that it took Donna a while to get it all right.

coat.

At the cemetery, fences near the graves are not just installed. This is a stop sign, you cannot cross them. Trample flowers and earth, under which the remains are not. Every living person must also have an invisible fence. Personal boundaries. Inside this fenced-in perimeter, it's just me. Outside it are family, children, men, friends, colleagues and everyone else. So, my flowers cannot be trampled either. Climbing over the fence is prohibited. No one has the right to advise me how to live, how to behave, what job to choose, whom to love, how to paint and dress, how to feed a cat, if I did not ask this opinion myself. No one has the right to touch me without my desire. Even take the hand. If a woman says "no", men for some reason often look for a double meaning, thinking that she "breaks down" and builds her own worth. “No” only means “no.” Around my inner world there is not just a fence, but also barbed wire, and machine gunners on the towers. One extra word - and a person at gunpoint, a repeat offender will be shot on the spot.

It doesn't matter if you believe in God or not, but if you're a warrior, Arlington Cemetery will be a holy place for you all your life, and the tragedy is not that a person dies, the tragedy is when a person dies in vain.

This is a book about how for ten years the United States financed the Afghan war, training and arming hundreds of thousands of fighters, many of whom then turned their weapons against the Americans themselves. On September 11, 2001, the Americans were burned by the devilish porridge that they helped to brew in Afghanistan. But now Americans at least know how it all happened. When will we have the same books describing how our country was dragged into the Afghan adventure?

we will plant a tree in memory and take care of it

“She really can.

I have my own graveyard of failed attempts. There are many tombstones, and somewhere in the depths are full of freshly dug graves that are waiting for something to be in them. But I do my best to keep them empty.

And then the war years worked: a weak, half-starved, and even in the fifth grade, when we have a wounded Pe-2 plane in Khvoinoy, he came in for landing, cut the tops of three pine trees near the railway bridge, crashed into the house where the Zagotzerno office was located. 11 people were killed. They are buried in our cemetery in a mass grave. I then ran away from the lesson to Zagotzern, saw all this terrible tragedy and vowed: I will be a pilot.

With my health, I have to look for a cemetery, not a job ...

These are the cervical vertebrae

Hidden in the fire.

Abundantly watered cemeteries and vegetable gardens.

My house is a cemetery,
The dead in coffins are my comrades,
And my friends are darkness and darkness,
And none of them, you, alive, are the enemy.