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The London Blitz

The London Blitz
Sonora Hills


Everything was still when the bombs fell.
               The German planes glided over the empty fields and the country houses
with their engines off. There was no moon in the sky.

              The dark, crooked streets of London approached. A sweaty hand gripped
the release lever.

              Plane wires hummed in the wind like a hive of angry bees.
              Emily Banks did not hear them over the turning of her book’s pages. The
rest of her family did not wake up. The only movement was a homeless collie
sniffing around the base of a tree in the park.

              A patch of air was ripped apart like tissue paper. Bombs struck the earth
like the handful of pebbles tossed into the fountain only hours before by five-year-old
Tommy Shaw.

             Windows in the tailor’s shop shattered instantly as the whole street
caved in on itself.

            A throttle was opened and an engine roared as it pulled itself out of a
steep dive.

           Sirens screamed. But they were too late to save the people living next to
The George and Dragon. Ellie Birdswell was ripped apart mid-sigh as she slept by
herself in the lonely double bed.

           The baker gagged on the dust-filled air. His daughter heard screaming
without realising it was her own lungs making the sound.
A pair of searchlights swept the sky like glowing eyes. Flames crackled as
the library caught fire.

           Another plane emptied its bellyful of bombs over a row of houses.
          William Kenson’s eyes were filled with the flames of the fire while he
turned his blind gaze towards the smoke-filled sky. He breathed in as the bomb
pasted him against the pavement.

           Lizzy Jane, who was betrothed to a soldier in France, stumbled when she
tried to run away. Her own house crashed into the street, burying her.

           The last bomb landed on Angel Street. It harmed nothing, ticking slowly
to itself as it lay half-buried in the dirt.

            The German planes turned towards home. Pockets of flames riddled the
city behind them. The proud buildings of London were gone. Only the spires of St
Paul’s watched on, unmarred, as the streets glowed red around them.


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