I was twelve years old. I met with some older boys at the ruins. They had airsoft guns, “toys” I had always wanted to try out. We put on our battle gear, loaded our guns with ammo (plastic balls), split into two teams of three, and began the battle to capture the fortress. As a kid I loved snipers, so I chose a sniper rifle, found a hidden spot and the battle began. We were all very skilled, so there were a lot of rounds until late in the evening.

Of all the boys, I was the one who took out the most enemies. I felt proud, but I also suspected that the others might have been envious. But I knew they were my friends.

At 11 pm, I walked down the dirt steps, then the cement steps, satisfied with my day.

I get on my skateboard, pick up speed and start to cross the street. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in the back of my neck, spreading and growing in intensity. More and more bullets were hitting me in the back. My friends were shooting at me. Stunned, I fall off my skateboard right onto the crosswalk. Bloody-faced, I look at the car coming towards me. My head is pounding, the headlights are blinding me. I try in vain to get up. Then, out of nowhere, my sister jumps in front of the car. Worried about the time, she had come looking for me at the ruins and had witnessed the whole scene.

The car came to a screeching halt. The driver got out, helped me up and rushed me to the hospital. In other times, other souls have lived their sad or beautiful stories at the ruins of St. Nicoară Church. I too have added to the place a moment from my personal history that no one will ever know about, just as I don’t know about what happened a hundred years ago.