The word echoed round and round in my head, “Run.”
A balm masking the noise of the gunfire, the desolate screams, the sound of man consumed by deadly metal. They all said it would never come here, the war, the death, the noise, but they were wrong. As I run I can see the shiny polished metal of the guns gleaming in the moonlight like a mirror; it might be beautiful if the shrieks of ending life didn’t clog the brain like a thick fog of fear.
“Metal goes in, death comes out,” that’s what Dad says, “Never go near one of those guns.”
And now I’m a ten-year-old boy fleeing from the Germans with their fire and their bombs on every side.
“Run,” the last words I heard before my family fell to the bullets like skittles to a bowling ball.
Terror skids through my head as the sky breaks open with a new storm of bullets. The guns are like thunder, the explosions flashes of lightning, lighting up the surrounding horror. That’s when I see it, the bullet, flying towards me. I try to move but my body is paralysed with fear. Three seconds… two seconds… one second… I take in my last sight of a dying world around me and almost wish it would end… Boom! I feel nothing however, no searing pain, no wound. And then it happens, and I turn around, and I smile…