Mother.

Mother will they drop the bomb?

Rumour is a tenacious creature, infecting the minds of common people. They always say that you never hear the one that hits you.  Tom from next door but one, always swore that Jerry knew your name and adorned his bombs with it, praying for a cloudless sky and sights set true. I knew rumour and speculation bred fear, that half of the stories were ridiculous propaganda but the stories sold and I was terrified.
*
The inside of the house was ruined; whatever was left was either broken or worthless. The upstairs floor was gone, leaving the blackened paintings dangling high above, their frames crooked and absurd. The remaining walls creaked gently under the blue sky.
The glass smashed, breaking the silence, tinkling to the ground in a thousand perfect crystals. I picked up another brick and felt its weight, judging the distance of which I could throw it. The brick was cold, solid and compact, almost unbreakable.  Its red sides mottled with soot, which stayed under my nails, branding me a thief. The single unbroken window stood before me, challenging me to destroy its beauty.  I heard a slow, mournful wail in the distance. The sound of a mother crying, of screeching metal and bombs whining; the sirens had come.
The ground began to tremble and bricks fell from their precarious ledges, clattering onto the flagstones around me.
I glanced at the remaining window. It forced my own reflection upon myself, misshapen and backwards; a warped grimace upon the mask of a clown.  I threw the brick as hard as I could.
*

I sat in the far corner, away from the others. Some told stories or cried. I stared into the candle; reminded of summer days on the Rec, running with Tom, back before the grass churned to mud, when there were trees free from netting and gun emplacements; their barrels saluting the passing clouds.
I sat listening to the chaos that tore down buildings and spat their innards out into the street, their owners dead or buried, their possessions free money to barter. The roar of explosions joined by the shearing of metal vibrated through the cellar as part of the upstairs collapsed.

The candle flickered. The ground shook. The explosions grew louder, the cracks in the wall gaped their mouths. Dust trickled down the back of my neck.

I stared at the wall; not wanting to look into the flames any longer, the light hurt my eyes. I glanced at the others, huddling and whispering oaths and promises. The candle flickered for a second time and went out. I closed my eyes and repeated a single damn thought.

“Mother, will they drop the bomb?”