We never really think about how much time we are given in this world. The number of mornings with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, cuddles with a cat and loved ones, hours spent at jobs we dislike, and time wasted waiting in line at the cashier—all these remain unknown to us. Sometimes it seems it will all last forever, and even if it doesn't, we imagine that after death we will somehow still participate in worldly events, just on a different, perhaps even more pleasant level. So there we are, cleaning our homes before Easter, thinking that next year everything will be the same—Easter cakes, colored eggs, church early in the morning with wet cheeks—but no one really knows if the book of our life has enough pages left to be written.
I don't know if everyone does, but most people certainly think about death from time to time. Who is she, does she carry a scythe and wear a black cloak, did The Simpsons portray her correctly, and how does she choose her victims? Some might view her as a good friend who supposedly guarantees solutions to all problems. Death indeed improves her methods every year. In the early stages of what we call "civilization," she relied on the classic toolkit—disease, being killed by animals, dying because someone didn’t know that fire could burn. But now, she has acquired new skills: car crashes, plane crashes, wars, nuclear wars, drug-related diseases, contaminated food, polluted water, plastic in the brain, plastic in bags, plastic in fish, genetic mutations due to radiation, poorly constructed buildings, terrorism, psychological disorders, and so on. This list could go on indefinitely. Yet, even knowing, recognizing, and constantly discussing the horrors and unpredictability of death, most (if not all) believe and hope to depart to the world of the dead peacefully, in their sleep.
But what if it doesn’t happen that way? What if the bones in a black cloak have other plans for us? What if this image of death has a specific silhouette, name, patronymic, passport, and even an identification number? And what if this figure comes to you, outperforming the Grim Reaper, crossing your name off the list of the living? And what if none of us are immune from such a fate?
Viktoria Roshchyna was born on October 6, 1996, in Zaporizhzhia. She began her career in journalism as a teenager, reporting on court decisions and crimes. Viktoria Roshchyna worked for hromadske, later published in Ukrainska Pravda and Radio Svoboda, and collaborated with Ukrainian Radio, UA: Pershyi, and Censor.net. With the beginning of Russia’s full-scale invasion, Viktoria started reporting on life in Russian-occupied areas of Ukraine and the siege of Mariupol. In 2022, she received the Courage in Journalism Award from the International Women's Media Foundation.
And it would be desirable to continue writing about her life, listing her achievements, criticizing the sentence structure in her first article, or exploring her career while predicting a happy future. However, on August 3, 2023, Viktoria stopped communicating. According to her parents, on July 27, she left Ukraine for Poland, planning to reach the occupied territories in eastern Ukraine (via Russia) in three days. Later, both the Security Service of Ukraine and the Russian side confirmed that Viktoria was detained.
This was not the journalist’s first detention. In March 2022, Viktoria was detained by the Russian FSB forces. She was preparing materials about military actions in Zaporizhzhia and Donetsk regions and planned to travel to Mariupol to report on the situation in the occupied city. The Russians held her for 10 days, releasing her only after she appeared in a video denying her claims against the Russian authorities who detained her, stating that they had allegedly saved her life.
On October 10, 2024, Viktoria's death became known. Initially, the information came from Russian officials who kindly contacted the girl's father. Later, the Ukrainian side confirmed this information. The Media Initiative for Human Rights reported that Viktoria Roshchyna was held in at least two prisons—the Correctional Colony No. 77 in Berdiansk and Detention Facility No. 2 in Taganrog, Russia. The detention facility in Taganrog is known as "one of the most brutal places of detention for Ukrainians in Russia." Viktoria's body was returned to her homeland in February 2025 during an exchange of the bodies of 757 fallen defenders. The last body numbered 757 in Russian documents was marked as an "unidentified male" and contained an unclear marking: SPAS. As it later became known, this combination of letters could indicate a cause of death established by the occupying side, meaning "total damage to the arteries of the heart."
The body's condition was poor, but it was immediately noted that it weighed less than the others. After examination, investigators noticed a small tag on her right shin labeled "Roshchyna V.V." An examination was conducted and confirmed a DNA match with the journalist. Yurii Bielousov, Head of the War Department of the Prosecutor General’s Office, reported that signs of torture were found on the body: hemorrhages on various body parts, a broken rib, and abrasions. Possible use of electric current was also noted. It was further discovered that her brain, eyeballs, and part of the trachea were missing. Experts suggest this was done to conceal the cause of death, likely resulting from strangulation or suffocation. This theory is supported by a bruise on Viktoria’s neck indicating a possible fracture of the hyoid bone. Unfortunately, due to the body's condition and mummification, the exact cause of death could not be determined. The Ukrainian side is addressing the issue of additional forensic examinations.
Ukrainians are often asked why we do not like Russians, why we do not want to live peacefully and amicably, but those people probably do not read similar stories or simply do not believe them. Or maybe they don't know what it's like to live next to a country without moral values, whose borders blur across half the world. Perhaps it was Putin himself who strangled the 27-year-old journalist, personally removed her organs, and repeatedly tortured her beforehand. Considering the numerous stories from released prisoners, he must have an incredible ability to be in 25 places at once. Russians are innocent, though—they only follow orders. And I've heard that somewhere before.
Life is indeed a fragile thing. We underestimate the value of every moment, often hoping for the perfect time somewhere in the future. Sometimes it seems that life itself is against us, drawing lotteries of heart attacks, cancer, and sudden death. Nature has never been loyal, and the food chain has no special place for vegans, yet we still don't expect to live forever. Everyone has their date, their limit of moments, and every second brings us closer to it. Perhaps death truly is just a pile of bones under a cloak with a scythe stolen from the hardware store, but we can't control it. It comes without asking. Yet, even death was surprised when people took over her job. Here they are, the peak of evolution, still defecating in holes in the ground, possessing the largest country on the planet, building concentration camps for Ukrainians from occupied and non-occupied territories. They watch people die because they disagree with terrorism and injustice. They torture, interrogating 27-year-old women whose lives had just begun. They fire rockets at civilian targets in a neighboring state whose existence they deny. They don't wear black cloaks or carry scythes, but they do death’s job nonetheless. They conceal the truth by removing organs. They rape, beat, and humiliate, then return home to speak of God and "great Russia," kissing their own children. They have nothing in common with humanity, merely wearing costumes, hosting a masquerade so real death won't notice the empty space inside where a soul should be. They feel in control, though they are losing it. One day, they too will leave, and I believe it will be very warm and strangely familiar there.
Viktoria left us too soon; they stole her time. And though to them she was just number 757, to the rest of the world, a human is much more than just a number.
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