Before the war began, I was still at work, in my restaurant. I'm famous in the local area, and you may have heard of me. Riots and clashes are reported daily on the news, and this nationalist-induced riot is repeated every day on the streets. I didn't care too much. I was an optimist at the time, one of those who swore there would be no war. Wars take place far away, in third world countries. Even the conflict in the news becomes more frightening day after day.
Chef – I used to be, I can cook a good dish, with my own TV show "Bruno's Cuisine", but these are things of the past, don't you think? Nowadays, if you can get some canned meat or a bag of rice, you're lucky.
I have a closest friend who is always worried about those conflicts. One day she called me and she was terrified, saying that there was a riot outside and that the war activists were inciting the crowd to burn down the town hall. I told her not to worry. I was right! Nothing happened – this time. But even as riots and fights became daily news, I kept assuring her that it would soon subside. After that, I comforted her for a long time and told her that I would visit her.
It was one night, I was in the restaurant, watching the customers arguing over their dinner, and didn't really notice the news showing some fierce fighting, when it occurred to me: the burned-out suburbs they were showing! My friend stayed! I don't know what my expectations were when I rushed out the door to the bus stop.
At night, the streets are very empty, with only some drunkards on the side of the road.
Everything was too late when I ran to the bus station. The siege began, all transportation facilities were cancelled, and banks were frozen. Anyway, it's too late to do anything for my friend. I should have considered this before calming down "she fell into a false sense of security". I don't know what happened to her. I'm afraid of the worst-case scenario.
Soon, war came to me from her side, and I became a refugee. Now I live alone and lack food and temperature, which makes me very miserable.
The war was not good, I often stole some things, which used to be against my identity, but now in order to survive, I can't take care of so much, I need food. Some people have a lot of food, I stole some, they don't lose anything, but can save my life. It was dangerous, I had almost died at their hands, but the bullet still infected my wounds and I lost the last gauze.
I lack cigarettes and quitting smoking for a long time makes me a bit of a withdrawal reaction.
Luckily, I met my good friend Marco, and I worked with him to survive in the war. But Marco often helps others, and I strongly disagree with his approach. We don't have enough supplies on our own, and helping others means giving us time without an equal reward, which makes our lives even more difficult. I've talked to him, but nothing has progressed, and he's still the same, the same as before.
