Craking, the world is craking.

Cowering in the corner of a room, is a boy, a room were he could once call home.

He looked at an armchair, he could see his mum laughing, telling him stories with real expression. She had sparkles in her eyes and smiled not with her mouth but with her eyes. Waving gently, the mum sent the boy upstairs to bed. The boy clambered into bed and fell asleep not know that that would be the last time he ever had dreams instead of nightmares.

In one blink of an eye, it was over.

The roof came crashing down and landed down on the armchair.That armchair was the last memory the boy could remember his my mum by . It was the night when the mum was reading stories on that very armchair, the one the boy has experienced being crushed in his very own eyes.

Having just witnessed the last memory of mum crumbling the boy sat in deep thought. He showed no expression he was just sitting blanking out everything that was going on around him, the noise of all the people and the world craking.