Simple and concise, right? Yet despite its straightforward spelling, punctuation, and style, this sentence carries far more history than the books of Russian novelists. So what does it actually tell us? That the author doesn’t enjoy playing shooter games on a computer and isn’t excited about a new update that gives a character a cool gun that kills enemies effortlessly? Or perhaps someone feels uneasy hearing about a new weapons package for Ukraine arriving from partner countries? Or maybe someone imagines a potential (and, God willing, unlikely) act of self-defense against machine guns or firearms while holding only a baseball bat? Or perhaps we shouldn’t dig so deeply into this simple sentence, searching for hidden meanings, and instead read it directly, without exaggeration?
I hate weapons.
Now, for some reason, everything seems clearer. And I think many of us, Ukrainians, never really reflected much on our attitude toward weapons while growing up in pre-war times. (My God, has the moment really come to use such a term?) We lived in a world where war seemed impossible; we believed in kindness, humanity, empathy. Any manifestation of cruelty felt unreal, abnormal. And when someone brought even a pocket knife to a playground or school, most of us would instinctively and fearfully label that child as “unreliable.” “No, Mom, I don’t want to invite Denys to my birthday — he scares me.”
It wasn’t cool, it wasn’t understandable, and we didn’t think much about it. We weren’t taught in school how to act if a shooter entered (Mr. King — not the one from the Dark Tower universe). There was no such practice for me or for any of us, children before the war. Thoughts like that, if they arose at all, seemed unlikely, silly, distant. Maybe in English classes in high school we were told about shootings in schools or cinemas in America? Even then it felt strange. Who would even think of shooting people? And where the hell do kids get weapons?
But times change, and the world moves forward without asking us. So now, for those who moved to America, the fear of being shot becomes a bit stronger. No, don’t get me wrong: I won’t say that I felt safer at unlit pedestrian crossings in Kyiv at night than on an ocean shore somewhere in California or Florida, but the potential fear of shootings in public places grows. We constantly hear stories about this in the news: schools, cinemas, public figures, the White House, 1963 in Dallas, and so on. It remains a fear for many, and debates about gun legality in America have lasted for years. Some demand to preserve the right to self-defense, while others… others are like me. Maybe they don’t hate weapons, but at the very least they would like to have as little contact with them as possible in their lives.
Florida, as we know, has its own rules for purchasing weapons, and all my friends (mostly Ukrainians) don’t mind going to a shooting range just for fun on weekends. In general, it’s a state where weapons are treated lightly, simply, without much caution. One can live with that and not be afraid. I don’t know how, but I seem to have learned. Sometimes I recall what life was like in Ukraine, back when Zelenskyy hadn’t even been elected president, when I could calmly go to a math test worrying only about my iPod battery running low. Returning to such memories, it seems that a world without weapons once existed. More than that — it functioned perfectly. Back then, as I said earlier, we didn’t think about it often. But as the events of April 18 in Kyiv showed, the world has indeed shifted, even in places where stability once seemed certain.
Holosiivskyi district is far from where I grew up, but something tells me that pre-war times there were fairly calm. Yet on April 18, 2026, despite the now familiar shelling from our “dear neighbors,” the lives of residents were shaken. That day, an unidentified (at the time) man opened fire in Kyiv’s Holosiivskyi district, then barricaded himself inside a supermarket with hostages. After 40 minutes of negotiations, the store was stormed and the shooter neutralized. The death toll rose to seven. Another seven injured survived but remain in Kyiv hospitals, including an 11-year-old boy.
The terrorist attack sparked criticism of patrol police and led to personnel changes in law enforcement. This followed footage showing two officers fleeing the scene while civilians were still trapped inside the supermarket. An internal investigation began, the officers were suspended, and the head of the Patrol Police Department, Yevhenii Zhukov, resigned.
The attacker’s identity was established, but his name remains undisclosed as the investigation continues. We know he was a 58-year-old native of Moscow who had served in the Ukrainian Armed Forces since 1992 and retired in 2005. Later, he visited Russia and returned to Ukraine in 2017, living in Bakhmut. He was described as a reserved person with few social connections and had often been held accountable for causing minor bodily harm. Interestingly, he legally owned a weapon obtained using a journalist’s ID. While such documents usually allow only for a non-lethal firearm, the killer somehow acquired a real one. But of course, it’s always the media’s fault, right?
And just like that, our already anxious, dangerous, unpredictable world of Ukrainian life trembled once again. This time, we didn’t need to wait for ballistic missiles or drones. On April 18, it was terrifying to go to the supermarket, to walk outside, to live ordinary life. Why does this happen? Of course, there are dozens of explanations, countless excuses: hard times, lack of psychological support, the scars of war. We are told to hope that next time a madman with a gun won’t show up at a cinema, store, or metro station where we happen to be. But maybe the issue lies elsewhere? Not in trauma, but in access to weapons?
In America, I’m often told one argument: a weapon itself cannot kill — someone must use it. Partly true. By that logic, the cause lies in the person, not the metal device. But how do we control people’s minds? How do we prevent such tragedies? We are told to raise children better. But do you think Jeffrey Dahmer or Ted Bundy became who they were only because of bad childhoods? Haven’t there been psychopaths with normal families who suddenly began killing? Of course, some suffer from trauma, but others are simply… different. We must also remember the power of propaganda, especially without critical thinking. In such cases, neither trauma nor upbringing explains picking up a gun and shooting people. And while America has a long-standing gun culture, Ukraine is new to this reality.
Despite all these cases, both in the U.S. and now in Ukraine, we still expect repetition. No one believes it was the last time. Instead, we hope we’ll be far away next time. Somewhere peaceful. But who is more detached from reality: the psychopath who believes killing solves his problems, or us, hoping for a better future?
It’s hard to answer. And it’s just as hard to propose an immediate solution. Ban weapons? Would that reduce them? Would those who want them not find illegal ways? Honestly, I don’t know. But perhaps the difficulty of obtaining a weapon on the black market could stop someone, make them hesitate. Having a gun in your drawer and dealing with illegal markets are different things. Maybe I’m naive, maybe this is just liberal propaganda — but does it matter if the goal is safety?
The world changes daily. Technology advances. Once, I went to school with a player using discs; now children use smartphones. We fly to space as if it’s just another metro stop. Medicine advances, and maybe soon cancer will be easier to cure. Life is moving forward. Sometimes. But one thing remains unchanged: human cruelty and the desire to kill. We’ve achieved so much, only to remain surrounded by tools of death. And while many argue for self-defense and freedom, I will close my eyes and see that supermarket in Kyiv, holding on to my belief.
Author: Viktoriia Hridina
