The sky was furious again today. For nights on end it had been angry—thundering, pounding, as if someone above was tearing loose great stones and hurling them at the earth. Mum and I woke at the same time. She bundled me quickly into a blanket, held me close, and led me to the bathroom.
When that awful racket starts, we always hide there—the smallest room in our flat, next to the bucket and towels. We sat on the cold tiles. Mum whispered a prayer. I watched her lips—they trembled, but she kept murmuring: that I, her little boy, would stay safe, that peace would return… that the war would end.
I don’t quite understand what war is. But I know this—Dad is there. Where the war is happening. And I know, too, that it’s why the sky turned cruel and loud. That’s what the kids from the neighbourhood told me. Though I haven’t seen them in ages—Mum won’t let me outside anymore. She only goes out once a day, to the shop. She buys only bread.
I sat there, listening to her prayer. A little sadness crept over me… and boredom. I thought of Teddy—my soft bear. He always helped me when I was scared.
“Mum, can you get Teddy for me, please?” I asked.
She looked at me, pressed me tighter against her.
“Right now?”
“Yes, I want to hold him. He’ll help.”
Mum always did as I asked. Even two ice creams in one day—she’d allow that. She nodded, smiled, and said,
“Just don’t leave this spot, alright?”
I nodded. And waited.
It must’ve been minutes. Then the earth groaned. Something crashed so hard the whole house shook. A tile from the wall cracked loose and rolled across the floor. I was afraid. Really afraid. But Mum told me not to move, so I didn’t. I started counting—from one to a hundred. Wanted to go to two hundred, but I forgot what came after. Mum promised when I turn seven and start school, I’d learn all that. I can’t wait.
I started counting again, but Mum didn’t come back. I called for her. First softly, then louder. No answer. So, trembling, I stepped into the hallway.
Dust hung in the air like thick fog. Debris littered the floor. Nothing was as it had been. I walked to the room where we used to watch cartoons. A wall lay there. Half the ceiling had caved in too. Somewhere under the rubble must’ve been Teddy… and maybe Mum.
I wanted to scream, but I remembered—when the sky is angry, you mustn’t make a sound.
I thought maybe Mum had run outside in fright. She was probably waiting for me there. I had to find her.
I noticed her slippers were still in the hall. So she’d run out barefoot. I put on my coat and stepped outside.
The street was dark and frightening. Cold bit into my bones. I looked around—and didn’t recognise our neighbourhood anymore. Everything was different. One house had crumbled into rubble. Another had no wall left. The corner shop where Mum bought bread was blackened and lifeless.
“Maybe streets are like this at night,” I thought. “Or maybe the war did it.”
If war is so cruel and breaks everything—why doesn’t anyone punish it? Why do grown-ups stay quiet and afraid? Why doesn’t anyone put it in the corner?
If war stood in front of me—I’d kick it hard. I’d shout, “Go back where you came from! You’re wicked and rotten!” And it would be scared. Because I’m strong.
I walked toward the square where pigeons always used to gather. None today. I looked up—and saw: a star was falling. A real one. Bright. Not like the others. It seemed to dive straight for me.
I knew—when a star falls, you make a wish.
I knelt. Like Mum does when she prays. Closed my eyes.
“Please let Mum be found. And Teddy too. And let the war go away forever.”
I didn’t ask for anything else.
