**A Stroll Down a Stranger’s Street**
The sky was in a right foul mood again—had been for nights, really. Thunder crashed like someone upstairs was chucking boulders straight at the earth. Mum and I woke at the same time. She bundled me up quick as a wink, squeezed me tight, and hurried us into the loo.
Whenever that dreadful racket starts, that’s where we hide—in the tiniest room of our flat, wedged between the mop bucket and a pile of towels. We sat on the chilly tiles. Mum whispered a prayer. I watched her lips—they trembled, but she kept going: for me, her little lad, to stay safe, for peace to return… for the war to end.
I don’t quite get what war *is*. But I know Dad’s in it. Wherever that is. And I know it’s why the sky’s turned nasty and loud—or so the kids from the estate told me. Not that I’ve seen them lately—Mum won’t let me outside. She only goes out once a day, just for bread.
I sat there, listening to her prayer. Felt a bit glum… and bored. Then I thought of Teddy—my soft, scruffy bear. He’s always helped when I’m scared.
“Mum, fetch Teddy, please?” I asked.
She looked at me, pulled me closer.
“Right now?”
“Yeah. Need his hugs. He’ll help.”
Mum never says no. Even two ice lollies in one day? Done. She nodded, smiled, and said:
“Don’t move from here, alright?”
I promised. And waited.
Minutes ticked by. Then the ground *groaned*. A boom shook the whole building. A tile popped off the wall and rolled across the floor. I was terrified. But Mum said stay put, so I did. Started counting—one to a hundred. Wanted to go to two hundred, but I forgot what comes after 109. Mum says when I’m seven and in school, I’ll learn all that. Can’t wait.
Started counting again. Still no Mum. Called for her—first quiet, then loud. No answer. Shaking, I crept into the hall.
Dust hung thick as London fog. Rubble everywhere. Nothing looked right. I went to the room where we watch telly. A wall was *on the floor*. Half the ceiling too. Somewhere under it was Teddy… and maybe Mum.
Wanted to scream, but remembered—when the sky’s angry, you stay quiet.
Thought maybe Mum got scared and ran outside. Probably waiting for me there. Had to find her.
Noticed her slippers still in the hall. Went barefoot, then. Pulled on my coat and stepped out.
Dark. Cold enough to freeze your bones. The estate looked… wrong. One house just heaps of brick. Another missing its front. The corner shop where Mum buys bread? Charred and silent.
“Maybe streets always look like this at night,” I thought. “Or maybe war did it…”
If war’s this mean—breaking stuff, scaring everyone—why doesn’t someone *tell it off*? Why do grown-ups just hush up? Why not send it to the naughty step?
If war were here, I’d kick it hard. Shout, “Piss off back where you came from! You’re horrible!” And it’d run. ‘Cause I’m strong.
Walked to the square where we fed pigeons. None today. Looked up—saw a star fall. A proper one. Bright, not like the others. Like it was diving straight for me.
Knew what to do: make a wish.
Knelt like Mum does when she prays. Closed my eyes.
“Let me find Mum. And Teddy. And make war leave forever.”
Didn’t ask for anything else.
