Wwii

I stepped out from my house into the pitch black of night. Searchlights streamed across the sky, illuminating only what was in their paths. I hated London like this. I was used to lights, people and laughter. It felt like the color and volume had been turned off in this dark and dismal place. I edged my way around one of the many bomb craters that were destroying our country, making the roads look like Swiss cheese.
Poisoning the air was the foul stench of gas and a permanent smell of burning lingered, thick, in the air. It was not my London. It was hell on earth.

An earsplitting, eerie wailing filled the air, wavering high and low. It was the reason I left my house in the first place, the reason I had to leave it most nights. It was the evil song of an air-raid warning and because of it I was trundling along the dark roads with most of our neighborhood to the underground station – our only source of protection.

Friends, families, strangers, the rich and the poor huddled together. Talking together, laughing together, crying together. Ignoring the decrepit smell, the scurrying of rats, the crying starving children, the old sick and dying, the people came. From far and wide, they came to the only place they felt safe.

Then the illusion was over and the inevitable came – a massive explosion hit the earth, shaking the foundations, making our bones shudder. It felt like the earth was going to open and swallow us. It’s prey. But the attack came from above, and this time, our lives were spared.

Everyone’s face was a mask of worry, each wondering if it was their street, their house or people they knew and loved that got caught in the blast. Maybe they weren’t quick enough, didn’t find shelter in time or were just caught unawares.
The explosions lasted all night.

As dawn broke, people began to slowly rise and return, worn and shaken to their houses. Discovering piles of rubble, unknowing of the whereabouts of their loved ones, if they’re safe or if they...