When I look back on my life I remember only horror. Whether it be the multiple revolutions, the hunger during WW2, or Stalin’s oppressive rule. I can’t remember a single moment without fear or anger or despair, but I do remember when it all started.

By the time I was 15 years old, I understood that the new reforms that the Tsar was trying to enforce were not only wrong but also inhumane. Like any patriotic 15 year old, I decided to march on the Winter Palace. We thought that if we marched, the Tsar would finally hear us, and decide to change his mind. Sadly, we didn’t know what would later that day. When we got to the palace the security told us to leave immediately or else they would shoot. No one believed this because the Tsar is a kind and fair man, after all. Right? Then the massacre began. None of us were expecting it, so none of us knew what to do. After a few moments of shock and fear so strong that we all froze in place, we all started running. Running away, running to safety,  running anywhere that wasn’t here. The next part was a blur, all I can remember are people, bullets, and bodies hitting the ground with no warning. Honestly, I don’t even know how I got out alive. All I know is that when I got out, my clothes were torn from almost being trampled to death in the frantic mob. My mind was hardened from seeing so many people dead, and my heart shattered from witnessing all of the cruelty that the Tsar could unleash. There was no more “Long Live the Tsar,” now there was only “Off with his head.” He was no longer our kind and benevolent leader. In reality, he was a cruel ruler who didn’t care about his subjects.