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The sounds of alarms take possession of my ears, drowning out everything else; I turn and run towards the nearest bomb shelter. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM! The bombs shake the earth as I run. The crowd of people around me is in a panic. My mind in Autopilot finds its way through the London streets seeking the nearest bomb shelter. I notice the airplanes flying above me.
That isn’t good. As I look at the planes, I noticed Swastikas on the wings. I’m frightened; Swastikas will forever be in my life. There’s no escaping them, no point in trying either. I duck into the safety of the underground tunnels thinking about how this had become apart of everyday life. The fear. The fear that today may be the day that you don’t make it to a shelter in time, and never return home. The fear that maybe, you will never see your family or friends again. The fear that this war might just never end.
I walk over to my favorite corner. When you go to a bomb shelter as often as I do, you have a favorite place to escape the outside world. Sitting down I look at the sticker that I stuck on the wall a couple of weeks ago. I had to have something to look at other then the faces of scared children and elderly alike crammed into the tunnels with me. The sticker is of a Princess and her Prince riding off into the sunset, as happy as can be. As I close my eyes I wish that I could be Princess riding off into the distance with my Knight in Shining Armor. Riding off into a sunset with no bombs, no Nazis, no fear, no war.
I stand up in an unfamiliar room. It’s a bomb Shelter but it’s unrecognizable without the hundreds of scared fathers and mothers crammed in. “How did I get here?” I ask myself.
Walking on, I looked around the unfamiliar area. Not looking ahead of me I bump into a man and we both fell to the hard, cement floor.
“I’m so sorry, sir.” I said, helping him pick up his papers. I really must look where I’m going.
“Oh it’s ok. I wasn’t paying attention about where I was going.” The man said.
Looking at him I said “Hi, I’m Lydia.”
‘That’s funny. You have the same name as the Prime Minister.” I chuckled
“That’s because I am the Prime Minister.”
“Wait, you’re the Winston Churchill?” I asked him, in awe.
“Why? Does your mother think poorly of me?”
Startled, I replied quickly, “No, no, she likes you, I- it’s just, that I’ve never met anyone who was famous. Not everyday do you get to meet the Prime Minister.”
Mr. Churchill chuckled.
I heard a distance noise.
“Well I hope you get home safely,” he told men with a kind smile.
“All right. It was, um, nice meeting you.” I said, feeling awkward.
“Ditto. Good night.” He told me very causally. Ditto? Did all politicians say that?
“Wait! Um, I want to ask you something!” Mr. Churchill turned around.
I took a deep breath, “Is this war ever going end?”
He smiled at me again and with a twinkle in his blue eyes said:
“Go home child. Your mother is probably worried sick about you. Good night.” He offered me a slight nod turned around and started walking again. I watched as his balding head turned a corner.
I woke with a start.
“Ahh!” I screamed. A man was shaking me.
“Girl. Everyone’s leaving. You have to go.” The stranger told me. I saw a crowd of people heading for the exit and just for a second I saw a man with piercing blue eyes with a familiar twinkle in them.