Nightmare World
A/N: a short story done for my mock English GCSE exam, where the question was to 'describe a nightmare world'. Instead of going for the cliché, hell-like landscape, I decided to base my so-called 'nightmare world' off of a real nightmare, in the world we live in – a young boys perspective during a bombing in WWII.
Note: I got an A for that exam paper!
Nightmare World
Every day they come, in their great terrifying birds of steel, overhead and through the clouds that I once thought held heaven.
It's so dark and cold when they come. Lights out. Not even the sun to guide me, only a deathly pale moon, with its hundreds and thousands of pinpricks of light that make me so scared if I can't see them, because that means something's blocking them and that they're here, again, to rain fire and destruction.
WOOOOOOO
A great, screeching noise, more terrifying than even a gunshot or a predator's roar. Because only the lucky, fast ones escape.
Urged forward by my mother, I put on a mask that stinks of burnt rubber and stale air as I run outside and try to join the throng of people to the safety of a shelter.
WOOOOOOO
They're getting closer, I can just about see their bulky silhouettes against the starlight. Fast and hard they fly, ready to deliver.
WOOOOOOO
I'm almost at the shelter now. If I can make it, like I've had to do so many other times before, I might not die.
WOOOOOOO
They're coming faster now, almost overhead. I pray that my home will still be standing.
WOOOOOOO
Faster and faster.
WOOOOOOO
Closer and closer.
WOOOOOOO
A deep, rumbling, grating noise as they whoosh through the skies in graceful, deadly arcs. One dips down and lets its package drop with a high-pitched whining noise. Boom.
There goes the east district – I played there a few weeks back. Thankfully, it's not close to here.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Bombs dropping everywhere in great clouds of fire, licking the streets with a white hot heat.
Others
Note: I got an A for that exam paper!
Nightmare World
Every day they come, in their great terrifying birds of steel, overhead and through the clouds that I once thought held heaven.
It's so dark and cold when they come. Lights out. Not even the sun to guide me, only a deathly pale moon, with its hundreds and thousands of pinpricks of light that make me so scared if I can't see them, because that means something's blocking them and that they're here, again, to rain fire and destruction.
WOOOOOOO
A great, screeching noise, more terrifying than even a gunshot or a predator's roar. Because only the lucky, fast ones escape.
Urged forward by my mother, I put on a mask that stinks of burnt rubber and stale air as I run outside and try to join the throng of people to the safety of a shelter.
WOOOOOOO
They're getting closer, I can just about see their bulky silhouettes against the starlight. Fast and hard they fly, ready to deliver.
WOOOOOOO
I'm almost at the shelter now. If I can make it, like I've had to do so many other times before, I might not die.
WOOOOOOO
They're coming faster now, almost overhead. I pray that my home will still be standing.
WOOOOOOO
Faster and faster.
WOOOOOOO
Closer and closer.
WOOOOOOO
A deep, rumbling, grating noise as they whoosh through the skies in graceful, deadly arcs. One dips down and lets its package drop with a high-pitched whining noise. Boom.
There goes the east district – I played there a few weeks back. Thankfully, it's not close to here.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Bombs dropping everywhere in great clouds of fire, licking the streets with a white hot heat.
Others