A Walk Down a Strange Street
The sky was furious again tonight. For days now, it had been growling and shaking, as if someone above were hurling great stones straight at the earth. Mum and I woke at the same time. She wrapped me tightly in a blanket, held me close, and led me to the bathroom.
When that terrible roar begins, we always hide there—in the smallest room of our flat, next to the mop bucket and stacks of towels. We sat on the cold tiles. Mum whispered a prayer. I watched her lips—they trembled, but she kept whispering: that I, her little boy, would stay safe, that peace would return… that the war would end.
I don’t fully understand what war is. But I know one thing—Dad is there, where the war is. And I also know it’s why the sky has turned angry and loud. That’s what the kids from the courtyard told me. Though I haven’t seen them in ages—Mum won’t let me outside anymore. She only goes out once a day, to the shop. Just to buy bread.
I sat listening to her prayer. A quiet sadness settled over me… and boredom, too. I thought of Teddy—my soft brown bear. He always helped when I was scared.
“Mum, can you fetch Teddy for me, please?” I asked.
She looked at me, pulling me closer.
“Right now?”
“Yes, I want to hug him. He’ll help.”
Mum always did what I asked. Even two ice creams in one day—she’d allow it. She nodded, smiled, and said,
“Just don’t leave this room, all right?”
I promised. And I waited.
A few minutes must’ve passed. Then the ground groaned. Something crashed so hard the whole house shuddered. A tile broke loose from the wall and rolled across the floor. I was terrified. But Mum had told me to stay, so I did. I started counting—from one to a hundred. I meant to go to two hundred, but I forgot what came next. Mum promised when I turned seven and started school, I’d learn all that. I couldn’t wait for that day.
I began counting again, but Mum didn’t come back. I called for her—softly, then louder. No answer. Trembling, I stepped into the hall.
Dust hung thick in the air. Debris littered the floor. Nothing looked the same. I went to the room where we watched cartoons. A wall had collapsed. Part of the ceiling, too. Somewhere under the rubble was Teddy… and maybe Mum.
I wanted to scream but remembered—when the sky is angry, you must stay quiet.
I thought Mum must’ve run outside in fear. Maybe she was waiting for me there. I had to find her.
Her slippers were still by the door—she’d left barefoot. I tugged on my coat and stepped outside.
The street was dark and terrifying. The cold cut straight to my bones. I looked around and didn’t recognize my neighborhood. Everything had changed. One house was now just a pile of bricks. Another had lost an entire wall. The corner shop where Mum bought bread was blackened and lifeless.
“Maybe streets always look like this at night,” I thought. “Or maybe this is what war does…”
If war is so cruel, breaking everything, why doesn’t anyone punish it? Why do grown-ups just stay quiet? Why doesn’t someone put it in the corner?
If war stood before me—I’d kick it hard. I’d shout, “Go away! You’re wicked and mean!” And it would be afraid. Because I’m strong.
I walked toward the square where pigeons used to gather. None were there today. I looked up—and saw a star falling. A real one. Bright, unlike the others, as if it were diving straight for me.
I knew: when a star falls, you make a wish.
I knelt, just like Mum does when she prays. Closed my eyes.
“Let Mum be found. And Teddy too. And let the war go away forever.”
That was all I asked.
Sometimes, the smallest hopes are the bravest of all.
