The body count is officially up to four but there are unofficial reports of another.
I can see black smoke rising from the other side of city hall as it continues to snow this morning.
My apartment has become a temporary recovery point for protestors. My roommate’s father is the leader of one of the opposing factions in his hometown and many protestors have filtered in since yesterday, stopping by to eat dinner, drink hot tea, or wash up.
The main opposition leaders delivered an ultimatum for snap elections by the end of the day. I am afraid there will be even more violence tonight.
Update: This has been on my mind all day so even if it’s not a true update, here it goes. Yesterday, while leaving work, an elderly Ukrainian man handed my employer a blue medical mask. As he outstretched his hand I glimpsed three old stumps where his fingers used to be. My boss responded “слава украïni” (glory to Ukraine) and the old man smiled. As he turned to leave, I saw his other hand, red and inflamed from pepper spray.
They are not just rebellious young men overdosed on testosterone and the immortality of youth but seasoned veterans as well who have seen their country go through decades of hardship. They have lived through the World Wars and the Soviet Union and still they have not been bowed. They stand proud for what they believe in.