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Intermediate. Years 7/8/9

The Day of Doom

By Benjamin Childs, year 8, Elizabeth College

As the clouds covered the pale sky, torn apart in places, like this world today, I knew things could get no worse. Playing with toys and games were what I liked to do. Now, I do this no more.

Living in the war was hard. You always had to be wary and watchful of your surroundings. The terror and fear of wondering whether you would wake up the next day, and whether your life could end that day, that minute, that second.

One day a few years ago, I was just waking up, ready for the new day, when I heard a noise. It was only faint, but my ears picked up an unusual sound. It started to crescendo, when suddenly my mother came bursting into my room and yelled ‘Air raid, air raid!’

I did not understand what this meant, but I carefully listened to my mother, who ordered me out of the house and into the smelly underground bunker. The first thing I noticed when I entered, was the overpowering, rank smell.

All of a sudden, I remembered hearing this almighty crash above us and piles and piles of dirt fell on everyone, filling and messing up the whole bunker. I remember that my mum was still holding onto me, as if I was a precious jewel. Then a man started whistling and shouted, ‘Get out – and get out now!’

I recall that stepping outside the bunker was a complete shock. There were fires and lots of rubble everywhere. There was smoke. There was crying. There was sadness.

Then the shock hit me. I turned around the corner and saw the horror. At first, I could not make anything out, as if I was in some kind of dream. Then reality hit me. MY HOUSE WAS GONE.

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