The sky was furious again tonight. For days now, it had been growling and shuddering, as though some unseen hand were hurling boulders down onto the earth. Mum and I woke at the same time. She wrapped me tight in a blanket, held me close, and hurried us to the loo.
When the awful rumbling starts, that’s where we hide—the smallest room in our flat, wedged between buckets and towels. We sat on the cold tiles. Mum whispered prayers. I watched her lips tremble, but she kept going—wishing for my health, for peace to return… for the war to end.
I don’t quite understand war. But I know this—Dad’s there, where the war is. And I know it’s why the sky’s turned mean and loud. That’s what the lads from the estate told me, though it’s been ages since I’ve seen them. Mum won’t let me go outside anymore. She only leaves once a day—to buy bread.
I listened to her prayers. A dull ache settled in my chest… and boredom, too. I thought of Teddy—my soft, worn bear. He always helped when I was scared.
“Mum, can you fetch Teddy, please?” I asked.
She looked at me, squeezed me tighter.
“Right now?”
“Yeah. I need a hug. He’ll help.”
Mum never said no to me. Even two ice lollies in one day—she’d allow it. She nodded, smiled, and said,
“Stay here, alright?”
I nodded. And waited.
Minutes passed. Then the earth groaned. Something crashed so hard the whole block shook. A tile slid free from the wall, clattering across the floor. Fear prickled my skin. But Mum said not to move, so I didn’t. I started counting—one to a hundred. Wanted to go to two hundred, but I forgot what comes next. Mum promised when I turn seven and start school, I’ll learn it all. I can’t wait.
I counted again. Still, Mum didn’t come back. I called for her. Soft, then louder. No answer. Trembling, I stepped into the hall.
Dust hung thick as London fog. Rubble everywhere. Nothing was where it should be. I crept toward the telly room—where we’d watch cartoons. A wall lay flat. Half the ceiling gone. Somewhere under the wreckage was Teddy… and maybe Mum.
I wanted to scream but remembered—when the sky’s angry, you stay quiet.
Maybe Mum got scared and ran outside. She must be waiting for me. I had to find her.
Her slippers were still by the door. She’d gone barefoot. I pulled on my coat and stepped into the street.
Dark. Cold. Bone-deep. The estate looked wrong. Broken. One house was just rubble. Another missing a wall. The corner shop where Mum bought bread—blackened, lifeless.
“Maybe streets look like this at night,” I thought. “Or maybe it’s the war’s doing.”
If war’s this cruel, why doesn’t someone punish it? Why do grown-ups just whisper and flinch? If it were here, I’d kick it hard. I’d shout, “Piss off back where you came from! You’re rotten and mean!” And it’d run. Because I’m strong.
I walked to the square where pigeons used to gather. None today. I looked up—and saw it. A star. Falling. A real one, bright and fierce, arcing straight for me.
I knew what to do. When a star falls, you make a wish.
I knelt like Mum does when she prays. Shut my eyes.
“Let Mum be safe. And Teddy too. And make the war go away forever.”
I didn’t ask for anything else.
