Continued Chapter 3

A Chapter by BrynnaW.

Nothing significant happend until December twenty fifth, the month before my birthday. I brought a potted plant, from our backyard, into our house and hung pictures, ribbons, and bows on the scrawny branches. It was small and flimsy but it was a tree nonetheless. I put some things, that I had made out of cloth, yarn, or pages from children's books, under the tree. Sadly, I could not wrap them, as much as I wanted to. We didn't own any wrapping paper or plain white paper which made me think of an idea. I ran into my room and ripped the sheets off of the bed. I would get the sheets back so it wouldn't be a problem. My presents bulged under the sheet wrapping and I smiled at the surprise my parents would not expect. Then, my house shook. A plane was flying toward our house. My eyes widend as I classified it as a bomber.

My heart raced as I ran to my parents bedroom and burst through the door. I screamed at them and my mom told me to get our stuff. They seemed too calm but I had no time to ask why. I opened our cupboard and took out a large, red tool box. It carried extra money we saved, water, beef jerky, sandwiches, and a picture of my family. Every week, my mom would make a dozen sandwiches in case of an air raid. Every week, if the air raid didn't come, we would end up having to eat the old things. Not this time. My mom and dad came into the kitchen, dressed. They took up our cat and dog before we ran outside. They release out pets and I hoped that they would find a way to live. We continued to run on the streets, of which I was the only one barefoot. A bomb behind us threw me off of my feet and onto my face. I quickly scrambled to my feet and ran to catch up with my parents. As we neared a corner, may father instructed us not to look back. I did look back. My house was no longer there. It was as if it had never existed. My father caught me staring and pulled my arm to keep us moving. I tore myself away and continued running.

It wasn't until late that night that we finally found a bus stop that had not been affected by the bombs. It was too crowded with people panicking and cursing. We knew that we wouldn't get a turn on the bus until morning so we laid on the cold sidewalk and slept while one of us kept an eye on the line. Before the bombing, we had planned where we would go just in the air raid came. We would go to my Uncle's house, which partly upsetted me. I didn't like the idea of just showing up on their doorstep, begging for shelter. My uncle was nice, don't get me wrong, but he has a wife that has several obnoxious habits and a son that thinks that he is better than everyone. Snow began to fall so I let the frosty flakes bite my tounge. I watched as my parents shivered in their sleep. Since we arrived at the bus stop, the line in front of us had decreased significantly but the line behind us had increased. We were now waiting for the next bus, which we would get on. The sun was slowly starting to make its way above the snow-capped buildings. Hopefull, to melt the snow that the night had brought.

Gently, I shook my parents awake as the bus neared the stop. They slowly straightend their backs and stretched out their legs. "Why?" they asked quietly to themselves. We paid our fare and, discovering that all of seats were taken, grabbed a pole to steady us as we stood. I looked behind me and saw our old neighbors and my old coworkers. They glared at us while muttering curses under their breath. I ignored them and stared vacantly out the window as if I was staring into the future of destruction. Our whole situation hit me with a bang. No more home. No more fun family conversations. No more... peace. Dear Lord, why did you let this happen? A hot, bitter tear rolled down my freckled cheek. I looked at the bus driver and saw that her rearview mirror had a sticker that said: "------ those belivers." Why such language? Was it really necessary?

Somehow, my parents nodded off in an upright stance. I did not because I was completely alert as I looked for bombers. My eyes scanned for a fellow Christian at each atop but so far, judgin by the language and hatred, there were none. The bus came to another atop and my parents, who had woken from their slumber, instructed me that this was our stop. As I walked toward the bus's doors, a man tried to trip me. I stumbled a bit but as I got both feet steady, I punched the man across his jaw. His head snapped back and once he was back in order and ready to fight, we were already gone. I smiled with a sense of pride but my parents scolded me.

"Control your anger!" they said.

"You aren't acting very Christ-like." My parents stared at me long and hard but I didn't reply.

The rain started to drizzle down before it began to pour. We began running to my Uncle's house, wherever it was. Our heavy feet hit the ground and splashed water everywhere. My hair stuck to my skull like glue. We came into a small neighborhood and we slowly trudged our way up a walkway to my Uncle's house.

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