Voronezh, June 1947
Voronezh, June 1947The awful winter passed, but this time spring didn’t bring the desperately awaited relief. A horrible famine held Russia in its grip. Locals starved and the plenni died like flies.
plenni“Every day they’re giving us less food and making us work more!” Johann grumbled, looking at the bowl of soup in his hand. Soup was a euphemistic expression for the hot water in the bowl. Not nearly enough to take the edge off his gnawing hunger, even after adding dandelions and moss he’d picked on the way to work.
“It’s a small sacrifice to pay for the glorious days ahead once communism takes hold,” one of the informers chastised him.
Johann glowered at the soup bowl, but remembering the harsh lesson for dissent, he schooled his voice and answered, “You’re right.
