My Life as a war child!

I woke up on that Monday morning. Rain dripped on my face as the open-crack in the ceiling dripped above. Being a war child had definatly shown it's concequences. My name is Mary-ellen. I am 13 years of age, and i am a War-child. You have now entered my life and i truly hope we can be friends.So this is what my first day of war was like. Fighting and bombing on  Trinity-rowe. Mother has no food for us and is weak. Victoria my 10 year old sister is ill. More than you can ever know. I cannot even live life as best i can. I decided to take to the streets. I know i am mad but this was my battle as well and it was challenging with food so i had to get it.  Well i went. Drunk men on the stairs, lying there as if half dead. Living in a tenement house never did show any good. At least not for my family. I brought mothers key and opened the Large Victorian door. Out it opened and i suddenly felt myself walking through the Nottingham Forest. A soilder walked by. The fight had came closer. I was caught up in all the hustle and bustle. A gun-fire had been shot. It struck me to the ground. Was the beggining the end? It was heart-pounding. I struggled to get up. Blood was seeping through my pours. I saw it flowing through my hand. I fell back. Suddenly people gathered and crowded around me. My eyes became blurry. I could see bright lights... 

 



By Hannah Martin, 1st year , age 13                Read more on my next story: Striking the post: The continuation.