It had been nearly a year since the end of the war and many factories were still damaged. Had become so accustom to the country life that I forgot what the city was like, what is smelled like, what it tasted like. I never thought would be returning to the city where so many bad memories took place. I walked down the station platform to a bench, the same bench where I found my mother that last time I arrived here, it looked to be the very same bench, even after all these years. The city had changed so much, it seemed to be the only thing that hadn’t, and everything was much more boring and plain. Liked down the street looking at all the factories and buildings. The further walked the smaller the buildings became, until they were just houses on the outskirts of the city. I turned down the street of where I used to stay. I stopped outside an old house. My house. This is where was abused, told I was useless and that nobody cares for me, this is where my mother left me. I never lived here, it was only a home in which I slept and ate. To me, my home is, and always will be, in Little Weirdo. As the sky began to darken, the autumn leaves glowed a bright orange in the twilight. A red overlay covered the city.
The sun a rich red and clouds a bright pink. I turned away and started to look for a place to sleep, an inn. As the last light faded, the sky became a dark blue, the stars twinkling in the night sky and the cool night air whistling in through the open window. I sat down my things in the room and laid on the bed. Tomorrow I will go visit the rest of London, to see what has changed, or what hasn’t. I will visit the school where used to go, maybe it’s still open. Maybe it’s not even there, blown up like the rest of the buildings seemed to be. Darkness overcame me and heaviness filled my eyelids, the strength to hold them open had long left me.