The sky was furious again tonight. For days now, it had been growling and shaking, as though some unseen hand was hurling great stones down upon the earth. Mum and I woke at the same time. She wrapped me tight in the blanket, held me close, and hurried us to the loo.
Whenever that terrible roar began, we always hid there—in the smallest room of our flat, beside the mop bucket and towels. We sat on the cold tiles. Mum whispered a prayer. I watched her lips tremble, but she kept murmuring: for me, her little boy, to stay safe, for peace to return… for the war to end.
I don’t quite understand what war is. But I know one thing—Dad is there. Where the war is. And I know it’s why the sky’s turned angry and loud. That’s what the lads from the estate told me. Though I haven’t seen them in ages—Mum won’t let me outside. She only goes out once a day, to the shops. Just for bread.
I sat listening to her prayer. A dull sadness crept in… and boredom, too. I thought of Ted, my stuffed bear. He always helped when I was scared.
“Mum, can you fetch Ted for me?” I asked.
She looked at me, squeezed me tighter.
“Right now?”
“Yeah. I need a cuddle. He’ll make it better.”
Mum never said no to me. Even two ice creams in one day—she’d allow it. She nodded, smiled softly, and said,
“Don’t leave this spot, all right?”
I promised. And I waited.
Minutes must’ve passed. Then the ground groaned. Something crashed so hard the whole flat shuddered. A tile cracked loose from the wall, skittering across the floor. Fear prickled my skin. But Mum had told me to stay, so I did. I started counting—one to a hundred. Wanted to reach two hundred, but I forgot what came after. Mum said when I turn seven and start school, I’ll learn all that. I can’t wait.
I began counting again, but Mum didn’t come back. I called for her. Quiet at first, then louder. No answer. Trembling, I stepped into the hallway.
Dust hung thick as fog. Rubble littered the floor. Nothing was where it should be. I moved toward the sitting room, where we watched telly. A wall had collapsed there. Half the ceiling was gone, too. Somewhere under the mess, Ted must’ve been… and maybe Mum.
I wanted to scream, but I remembered: when the sky’s angry, you stay quiet.
Maybe Mum got scared and ran outside. Probably waiting for me there. I had to find her.
Her slippers were still in the hallway. So she’d gone barefoot. I pulled on my coat and stepped into the street.
Outside was dark and awful. Cold gnawed at my bones. I looked around—and didn’t recognise our neighbourhood. Everything had changed. One house was just a pile of bricks. Another had no wall left. The corner shop where Mum bought bread stood blackened and dead.
“Maybe streets are always like this at night,” I thought. “Or maybe the war did it.”
If war’s so mean and breaks everything—why doesn’t anyone punish it? Why do grown-ups just stay quiet and scared? Why doesn’t someone put it in the naughty corner?
If war were here, I’d kick it hard. I’d shout, “Piss off back where you came from! You’re wicked and rotten!” And it’d be afraid. Because I’m strong.
I walked toward the square where pigeons used to gather. None today. I looked up—and saw a star falling. A proper one. Bright, not like the others. Like it was coming just for me.
I knew: when a star falls, you make a wish.
I knelt, like Mum does when she prays. Closed my eyes.
“Let me find Mum. And Ted, too. And make the war go away forever.”
That’s all I asked for.
