Friday Night Story

From Russia, With Love

Hello. My name is Katya.

I am writing because I do not understand. I spoke with my mama, and with my papa, and even my grandpapa, and while they will not say so, I do not think they understand it, either.

I do not understand why your angry President, or your less angry other President, want to aim missiles at us. I don't understand why the angry almost-President got upset when we helped our friends in Ossetia and Abkhazia. I don't understand why our old friends in Ukraine aren't happy about the gas; as soon as we can fix the problem, I trust that our President will.

My grandpapa says it is about hostility- and I understand hostility. There is a girl in my grade, Illyana. She was mean when I was very small, and picked on me. She does not seem to remember those days, and believes that we are now friends- but I remember when she wasn't nice to me, even if she is now. But I am nice to her; I have always been nice to her, though she hasn't always deserved it. I do not understand why we all cannot be nicer.

I look around, at my family, and my friends, the people on my street, or that I go to school with. We are not part of an evil empire; we have never been Soviets in anything but name (and some of us are young enough to not have even been that). We do not want to be your enemies, and we surely do not want to fight. I know your country and England didn't like each other, once, but now you are true friends. I hope we can be friends, too.

From Russia, With Love,


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