Butovo
The way lasting several exhaustive months was eventually coming to an end. I was welcomed in the detention center of the strange town of Butovo, covered with puffy September snow of the far and unfriendly Republic of Komi. The way led to the native settlement of GULAG camps, to the land, keeping the bones of hundreds of thousands of innocent victims. That was the last shelter for the millions of Ukrainians tortured by Russian chastisers.
The relentless cold penetrated the cells of the transfer vehicle, which took us along bumpy roads of the far, abandoned and neglected place. One more time I had to waste long weeks of my life in another temporary shelter on the way to the facility, the zone, waiting for me with its bloody-stained arms wide open. A few-hour tiring journey and we ar
