The sky was furious again tonight. For days it had growled and roared, as if some unseen hand were hurling boulders from the heavens. Mum and I woke at the same moment. She wrapped me tight in the quilt, clutched me to her chest, and hurried us to the loo.
When the terrible thunder starts, we always hide there—the smallest room in our flat, between the mop bucket and stacks of towels. We sat on the chilly tiles. Mum whispered prayers. I watched her lips tremble, but she kept murmuring—for me, her little lad, to stay safe, 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 gone 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 shop. Just for bread.
I sat there, listening to her prayers. A pang of sadness tugged at me… and boredom. I thought of Bumble—my stuffed bear. He always helped when I was scared.
“Mum, can you get Bumble for me?” I asked.
She looked at me, squeezed me tighter.
“Right now?”
“Yeah. I want to hug him. He’ll help.”
Mum never said no. Even two ice lollies in one day—she’d allow it. She nodded, smiled, and said,
“Stay right here, alright?”
I promised. And waited.
Minutes crawled by. Then the earth groaned. Something crashed so hard the whole block shook. A tile snapped from the wall and rolled across the floor. Fear prickled my skin. But Mum told me not to leave, so I stayed. I started counting—one to a hundred. Meant to go to two hundred, but forgot what comes after. Mum says when I’m seven and start school, I’ll learn all that. I can’t wait.
I began again, but Mum didn’t come back. I called her. Soft, then louder. No answer. Trembling, I stepped into the hall.
Dust hung thick as fog. Rubble everywhere. Nothing looked right. I crept to the sitting room, where we watched telly. A wall lay flat. Half the ceiling was gone. Somewhere under the wreckage was Bumble… 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’d be waiting for me there. I had to find her.
Her slippers were still in the hall. She’d gone barefoot. I pulled on my coat and stepped out.
The street was dark and terrifying. Cold gnawed at my bones. I looked around—my neighbourhood was gone. Everything had changed. One house was a pile of bricks. Another had no front wall. The corner shop where Mum bought bread was charred and lifeless.
“Maybe streets are always like this at night,” I thought. “Or maybe the war did it…”
If war’s so mean, why doesn’t anyone tell it off? Why do grown-ups just stay quiet? If it were here, I’d kick it hard. I’d shout, “Piss off back where you came from! You’re nasty and rotten!” 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 a star falling. A real one. Bright. Not like the others. It seemed to race straight for me.
I knew—when a star falls, you make a wish.
I knelt, like Mum does when she prays. Closed my eyes.
“Let Mum be found. And Bumble too. And make the war go away forever.”
That’s all I asked for.
