Beneath the Bombs
By Chi Yan Ng
“Ugh… what time is it?” I was just jolted awake by Mother. That meant it was 5:00 AM, but my body felt like it had just fallen asleep. I hate waking up, but at least I was able to. My stomach growled but I ignored it, knowing that food was scarce. We were lucky enough to afford one small meal a day, which we shared in the evenings.
Soon, it was time to head to the café. I always told Mother that I was happy to help her at the café, a small shop passed down by her own mother, my grandmother, and that had survived several generations, but probably not more. It only made sense that I helped out, but deep inside, I wished that I could be at school. I hadn’t been at school for more than a year, well, officially nine months, but Mother didn’t let me attend because it was “too dangerous outside”. During the short walk to the café, soldiers were everywhere, armed with horrifying weapons, which Mother later told me that the government used to control people and punish them if they didn’t follow the rules.
Today, we got a total of three customers — meaning soldiers taking a break from guarding the streets. The shop wasn’t visited by anyone else these days, as many had fled to safe areas nearby. Mother once told me that once we earn enough money, we will leave our home and live in one of those safe places, until the war ends. But, were there actually any safe places? Would Father be able to join us? Would I even be able to see him again? Did I give him a proper goodbye?
Suddenly, a loud, familiar noise echoed through the streets, disrupting my thoughts. Dust and smoke filled the air, structures collapsed and those who could ran for their lives. We both looked up, and just as we had thought, the monster had made a reappearance, just two streets away. “Let’s hope that’s our one for the day.” Mother was trying to make light of the situation, but I knew that it was just the first of many for today. Our home was probably next. The monster was looking for me.
An hour passed by, with another monster erupting in the distance. Seeing as there were no more customers, Mother and I headed home before more monsters appeared. We walked in silence, but the world around us was not. Scattered in the streets, families of the dead wailed in grief, and those whose loved ones were yet to be uncovered huddled together, prayed for their safety and that they would not come out like the others.
Once we arrived home, in one piece thankfully, Mother brought out the single loaf of bread we owned. She had hid it at the back of the cupboard, away from the thiefs. As usual, she gave me three-quarters and kept only one-quarter for herself, saying that “she wasn’t hungry”. I tried to give her some of my portion, but she refused to eat it. Eventually, I gave up and ate the rest, not wanting to waste any precious food. Now, I’ve just got to starve until tomorrow. I could already hear my stomach growl again.
After dinner, or what was referred to as dinner, Mother told me to get ready for bed. Reluctantly, I followed her instructions, knowing that there was not anything else I could do. Two years ago, Mother bought me the only book I currently own, which I’ve read over and over again hundreds of times. I could probably recite the entire book for you.
As I laid on my bed, I couldn’t help but think: Would there even be dinner tomorrow? How long could our home stand? Was Father safe? When can the war end?... Millions upon millions of questions raced through my head, as they seem to do so in every spare moment. Amidst the chaos and the stomping of soldiers outside, I fell asleep until I was jolted awake yet again.