The War Between The Divide - Chapter 1

A young pianist finds himself trapped in Ukraine, with no means to escape nor survive. As the war rages on, he will be forced to make difficult life and death choices. When he encounters a Russian soldier, everything he's ever known changes and he soon realizes that the enemy on the other side is not the real threat.



5/4/2022 4 min read


Drawn by @neutronboar. Both Caedmon and Andriy are copyrighted and belong only to me. I love the art so much I decided to create a book cover for it.

Don’t know when I’ll finish this story. Maybe one of these days. Of course, I’m always experimenting with colors and what not. So this may not be the final version.

The Death Of The Ukrainian Negotiator

Note - This is a free-style writing. Grammar and spelling may not be up to par, since I’m trying to get in the habit of writing again. In addition, none of these events are factual correct. This is just a fictional story that somewhat deals with the Ukraine/Russia Crisis. None of these characters are real and none of these events are real either. Please, don’t ask me about any mainstream news outlets because I don’t watch any of them.


It was plastered on every channel, every news station, every Internet blog, and every newspaper. The Death of The Ukrainian Negotiator. It was in big, bold words across the globe. Everyone was talking about it.

Shot dead.

By who?

Who could’ve killed him?

Why did they kill him?

These questions and more spiraled nonstop inside my head as I couldn’t figure out why anyone would kill him. I felt his death harder than anyone could ever know, than anyone could ever imagine.

How could this happen?

He was a peaceful and kind, loving man. Not an evil thought crossed his mind, his heart, nor his lips. He was a humanitarian through and through.

When I heard the news that morning, I collapsed to my feet and laid plastered on the floor, helplessly––I was frozen and emotionless for several hours, trying to process it all, trying to piece together what actually happened that day.

“The Ukrainian Negotiator, Ihor Victor Kozak, was shot earlier today. He was later hospitalized, but he died on the way there in an unmarked car,” said the female reporter on the television.

Father... I thought as tears rolled down my face.

My hands were shaking constantly; my body shook with such anger and sadness that I couldn’t bear the pain anymore. I couldn’t explain this feeling of regret. No one would know how I truly felt about my father. Now that he was gone, I was beside myself in despair. An emptiness filled the room.

I didn’t have anyone to turn to nor anywhere else that I could go to in my time of need. All my living relatives wanted nothing to do with me, because I was a prodigy, a pianist, who didn’t have nothing else to live for.

Why did he leave me? Did he know he was going to die? Was it the Russians? Did they kill my father, because he wanted peace? Does this mean we’re at war? I wondered, thinking aloud.

All my musical note sheets were scattered across the wooden floorboards. My room was as messy as I was––a complete disaster, which mirrored my actual mood and surroundings.

Where can I go? Without father, I have nowhere to go.

As I wiped the tears from my face, I started to question if my life would soon be on the line. Would the Russians come for me next? I was the next of kin, right? But I didn’t know any top secrets dealing with the government and I didn’t have any important documents on hand. I had very little to do with my father’s work. He was so consumed with his job and his career, there was little room for me to know the inner workings of his political projects and what he actually did at board meetings and press conferences.

Sometimes, I’d see him on the news talking about what he loved to do. He wanted peace and wanted to find a middle ground for both sides, that much is true. He was never for war. My father didn’t want to see anymore bloodshed and violence. He saw the real horrors of a war in his childhood and never wanted anyone else to go through what he went through.

So, why did they kill him? Did he know too much? Did someone not want him to bring peace between the two nations?

I struggled to lift myself off the ground, off my music sheets, but I barely had enough energy to even stand. My feet were trembling as I tried to make it across my room; I was holding myself up against the wall so I could balance myself upright.

Sweat dripped from my face as if I was having a severe fever. I coughed and vomited on the floor and on my new shoes. My vision was getting hazy and I needed to reach the bathroom, before I passed out again in a cold sweat.

As soon as I got to the bathroom door, I pushed it wide open and made my way towards the tub. I literally fell head first and my body just dove right in. I wouldn’t wake up until the next day, dripping wet from the shower, which I had turned on by accident. My clothes were completely soaked from head to toe, even my shoes were drenched as if I had been submerged in water.

There was nothing else I could do about my father’s death. I wouldn’t be able to see his body nor be able to have a funeral in his honor. Going to Russia was basically a death sentence for me. I’d have to make my plans of escape and head to America in order to escape the chaos that would soon engulf me like a raging inferno.

It was only a matter of time until the bombs started falling out of the sky...

Written and copyrighted © 2022 by W.D. Lady