The sun had long since set and the sounds of war could be heard in the distance. It was my duty as an air raid warden to ensure that all the families in the neighbourhood were taking necessary precautions to be safe from the bombs being dropped. I had seen why this was so important; I had seen the destruction that could be caused.
This particular night, however, was dark and turbulent. I could hear the screeching of fighter planes in the sky, with the thumping of bombs following not long after. Everyone was ordered to stay inside, so my assistant and I patrolled the streets, ensuring that all the houses were secure.
The air was thick and humid, like warm molasses. I could taste the gunpowder in the air, and my senses were heightened with each step I took. The street lights were all dimmed, ensuring that no one was visible to the enemy. As I walked, I could feel the dust collecting on my skin, tiny pieces of mortar interweaving their way into my shirt.
The sky was lit up with flickers of orange, red and yellow. The bombs were coming in thicker and faster, one after another. It felt never ending, and even from miles away, I could feel the shockwave of each blast.
The ground seemed to shake beneath my feet, walls and windows trembling with the impact of the bombs. I could smell the smoke, like a thousand pieces of burnt wood. I remember looking around, desperately praying that no one was out in the streets in danger.
After what felt like an eternity, the bombings stopped, and the air became deathly still. Though I breathed a sigh of relief, I knew there were always more battles to come. It was my job to make sure that everyone was safe. This, I was sure of. No matter how dark the night, if I was there, then those in my care would be safe.