When I was a child, my grandmother Irina used to tell me very scary tales. The worst were about cannibals, about a witch who ate children, because their souls were taken away by red devils from hell, that’s why now I paint devils red, about a man who ate travelers who came to him to rest. In the cellar he had barrels with corned beef. Stories about people who could kill for a spikelet of wheat. When I grew up I realized that these were not fairy tales, it was about how we were exterminated during the Great Famine! These stories are woven into my life. Some day this war will end, it will definitely end with our victory! There will be peace and there will be new scary tales that will be born from this tragedy, but how many children will not hear them, how many family trees were cut down by the occupiers. I have to survive to tell my grandchildren about the victorious heroes who defended us and goat-faced devils who wanted to destroy us!