Primary. Years 3/4/5/6

Our story

By Beth Phillippe, year 6, Amherst School

One puny blow and we were well and truly dead.

The emerald green blanket that lay out on the forest floor could be mistaken for the crown jewels. Anything that was beautiful disappeared at that very second. “We are proclaiming war!” The intrepid Santonian soldiers had started a battle!

“Mum, watch out!” I screamed. My mum gasped as a piece of shrapnel flew past her head. The brackish stench of blood drifted across the miasma despair of the woods .

"Papa!” My sister had cried from where she had been standing. As soon as he had heard my yell, my had dad come over in a

boat and here he was lying dead on the floor. The trigger on a gun clicked right next to my head. We were trapped.

My family had been shipped to our village of Avvle-tiere and we were abandoned in the ancient ruins of what had once been a friendly place. Bombed out of existence was the old Martel’s house, all that was left was the echo of pain and death that lingered. Father and grandma are gone but what I miss the most are the fun times all of us had picnics. We would laugh and make a puddle from all the joyous tears spring would bring.

My sister started calling my name from the front of the house, she mentioned somthing about staying in town. As I emerged from the collapsed house, she started to cry. I crossed the bridge that joined our village to the town with a grudge.

My sister had said that my family was here but dad and grandma had gone. All the Santonean soldiers had one family member held in an uncomfortable way with a rifle pointed at their heads.

One puny blow and we were well and truly dead.

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