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Intermediate. Years 7/8/9

Bye daddy

By Kate Zierlinger , year 8, St Sampson’s School

Crash, bang, boom. I can hear the aircraft high in the sky. The dust is filling my lungs and my throat is scratchy and dry. The air raid signals are blasting all over England. My mattress feels like leather, cold and hard. The air raid signals are drowned out by mother’s snoring. She turns over and her cold, damp clothes brush against my skin. She was awake and sat up, so I copied I had been too afraid before, the room was too dark, too lonely, too empty.

Suddenly we both tense and I can hear the bashing and clanging of our front door and people shouting. Fear fills me. I feel like I'm going to explode, I just want to scream but I mustn't, they can't know we're here. We hear them take father out the door and they slam it shut. Mother grabs onto me and hugs me and everything is ok again. Her warmth is like a mug of hot chocolate on a rainy day, never fails to make me feel better.

“Don't worry, they're gone now,” said Mother reassuringly in a soft whisper. We both knew what had happened.To be completely honest I didn't care much. Father was always horrible to Mother and shouted at us. When I was three he stamped on my baby rabbit. I found it was as flat as a pancake. There was oceans coming from my eyes for weeks and my bedroom was a storm full of tissues.

A little piece of me has gone, and I know who took it. Suddenly I didn't care about the baby rabbit, or the way he shouted at mother, I just missed him. I was craving his love and attention. I feel empty.
“Father.” I mumbled to the nothingness of the room.





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