The lights beamed across the gray smoky sky. Planes flew across the deadly smoky sky. Slowly the fatal bombs started to blow across the sky and people started scream and run to the bomb shelters. The air sirens wailed as deadly, ferocious bombs dropped from the sky. a small boy called peter stared at the bombs dropping down on the houses. Peter’s mum came running into the living room to grab him and take him to the bomb shelter. She ran upstairs, exhausted, and collected Lucy then ran out to the bomb shelter. “Wait, dad!” screamed Peter then peter ran inside to the living room to grab the picture of his father.
One foggy day, planes zoomed through the foggy, stormy weather. Bombs, which were shaped as rockets, dropped from the dirty, mucky planes. A little boy peered through the crooked window in the ancient house. He saw bombs dropping from the Cole black sky. Suddenly his angry, depressed, worried mother came in and grabbed his shoulder; she screamed at him to move and rushed him and his brothers and sisters to the old, rusty air raid shelter.
The young boy ran back in the house and got his photo for the crusty, wooden shelf followed by his older brother. All of a sudden a massive bomb exploded, with a flash of light the window blew to pieces. Quickly as he could he dragged his little brother to the air raid shelter. He was holding a photo of his dad…
All they could think about was the smelly, black, nauseating smoke; they could hear sirens crying out in the middle of the night. The sight of burning, hot, fierce fire was in their minds
they could taste black ashes. They could feel the ground shaking.