The Game, The Tragedy

The quaint historic town of Pereiaslav, where previously it had been quiet museums and cobbled streets, now rang out with the haunting noises of cannons. In the devastation, local citizens navigated cautiously, seeking provisions, shelter, and remnants of their previous lives.

Not all, however, traveled with sense.

General Serhiy Doroshenko, a flamboyant but impulsive commander, thought the war was less about strategy than appearances. In defiance of his exhausted officers' advice, he staged a lavish "morale-boosting" party on the war-torn central square — parades, flags, speeches, and military bands.

Old villagers stood at broken windows, whispering at the foolishness of the scene, their faces set by hunger and sorrow. Among them was an old teacher of philosophy, Mykola, who muttered to himself:

"Life is a dream for the wise, A game for the fool, A comedy for the rich, A tragedy for the poor."

"Life is a dream for the wise, A game for the fool, A comedy for the rich, A tragedy for the poor."

The parade started, the band performed, and the General proudly stood on his rostrum. Seconds later, a whistling noise was heard in the distance — an enemy missile struck home, cutting short the pageant and the general's illusion.

The square fell silent again, interrupted only by the occasional crackle of burning wreckage and the bitter exhale of Mykola:

"Those who treat life like a game often forget the price of losing."