Niños vascos by11-year-old Scarlett Thomas. - CRASH! I jolt awake for the 7th time this month. I hear bombing outside; Mother comes slowly through the door rather than her usual swiftness. "Morning, mis amores, I brought you breakfast." One of my three sisters groaned and asked to sleep in longer. "Marie-Carmen at nueve you should be used to waking up at 7:30." My mother replied, laughing to herself.

After a while, all four of us got up and ate breakfast in bed. Which is surprising because mother acknowledges that as an ‘unladylike' sin. But I soon found out why we were getting the golden treatment. "Mis amores," she began. "With all the fighting going on, I've decided to sign you all up for a tres month holiday to Europe." After these words, I could swear she was starting to tear up. "What do you mean you've decided to sign ‘us’ up for a tres month holiday to Europe?" My oldest sister Pilar questioned.

"Well," I could tell she was starting to struggle. "Adultos cannot come. It won't be long, mind, I’ll see you in tres months." Before any of us could argue, she ordered us to get ready in our smartest clothes and to pack a bag. She brought Pilar into the other room to 'give her responsibilities'. I didn't buy that for un minuto.

Pilar came back in about cinco minutos later, her face drenched in tears. But whenever we would ask her what happened, she would just shake her head. After we had finished packing,

Mother whisked us out of the house as though time itself did not exist. Once we were outside, a wave of devastation hit me like a tidal wave. Now I know why our mother had forbidden us to go outside all month.

Broken houses, buildings set ablaze, craters where the earth meant to lie. Broken, ablaze, places where I used to run, torn and unfixable. Suddenly, my sister Mila grabs me by the shoulder. Her face, usually lit with a mischievous smile, now expressed exactly what I felt. All five of us broke out into a run down towards the port. When we arrived, a gargantuan steamship towered over us. The words 'SS HABANA' stood boldly on its side.

"Are we late?" Mother asks anxiously. "No, just in time." The guard replies solemnly. "Name and age?" “This is Pilar de diez años, Marie-Carmen de nueve años, Mila de ocho años and Hosafita de seis años, surname Rodriguez. I look up as my mother says my name, but I don't say anything.

The guard directs us through the gate towards the ship. We go up the stairs connecting the ship to the port. Once we are all onboard, the guard unlatches the stairwell from the ship and lets it fall into the sea. I look back at the port at my mother waving, tears pouring like rivers out of her eyes. And then it hits me. I didn't know if this was the last time I would see my mother.