Fear

• Corinne Harris, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2011

The loud noises that were explosions rocketed around the small pair of children. Their hands were clasped together, the tightness betraying their fear. The buildings around them were decayed and ugly, and the sheer power of the bombs had crushed them, just as they had crushed the spirit of everybody who lived in them. The city was silent, only the sound of a bomb that was exploding or the occasional scream accompanying the dreaded darkness. Nobody was running, fleeing from the relentless bombs. They only bowed their head in silence, praying, praying they and their families would be untouched. The air was musty, tinged with darkness and fear and sadness. Children younger than themselves hid behind their mother’s, knowing that the big flashes were a problem that crying would not help. The babies and toddlers had no such doubts, bawling as loud as they could while their grey-faced mothers tried to sooth them. The doorways of the crumbling buildings were filled, but the buildings themselves were empty of life and full of death. The two children had nobody to hid behind, nobody to try to reassure them, only empty looks and body behaviour that suggested nobody cared for the two children wrapped in rags and hungry eyes. Their eyes followed the two children trying to seek shelter, watching, watching, as they tired and they eventually collapsed in the middle of the street. The children abandoned all hope, abandoned all feelings, and prepared themselves for death.
Only one question remained in everybody’s mind.
What cruel, twisted person could do this?