You got out to the pavement with your bag, people were already out before you, and still more are coming. Everyone, without a smile, everyone walking briskly, some half running. You braced yourself against the cold wind and walked to the same direction. Like a parade of fishes in the sea meeting the same fate.

Your family beside you, you keep walking till you reach the safe room. Safe they said, from a hit if it happened. They didn't tell you it wouldn't keep you safe from sorrow. The room was packed, there was barely a spot to sit down. It smelled and there was lack of air. You found a corner with your family, and tried to get yourself comfortably sitting. Waiting.

The first one didn't come immediately, it didn't even come that day. You thought you should have taken your time and took more of your stuff with you. As if there was any room for more stuff in that shallow bunker.

When it came, it sounded like rain, because there was so many of them. At first you only heard the sounds and feel a little tremor going up your spine. Later on, it was so near and so strong you felt you went deaf. You thought it was never going to end.

They were right, you were left alive in that room. They made sure you were alive to experience the rest of your life. It went on and on for two whole days before the next worse thing. By now your ears have gotten used to it. You have learned how to drink while the room shook. Then one of them fell right above you you know by now that there was no roof above this roof, that is why this time it felt so real, so near.

The lamp died. The light was substituted with children screaming, mother hushing. In the dark- not just dark, it was pitch black-you found little to believe in. You heard prayers being said across the room, but you found little comfort with it. In the black, you noticed you couldn't tell a difference between the old and the young, the woman and the man. In the eyes of black, everyone and everything was equal.

It was your brother that broke the sobbing, he created silence. In the black, there was only one thing to do. Listen to music. He played his recently composed song on the small damn ukulele. It wasn't very good. He made mistakes here and there. But people listened, there was nothing else to hold on to. He was the lighthouse.

The song was called, "The Leaking Drain". You had laughed at it, who ever thinks a leaking drain sings. But now, you're not sure it's silly anymore.

When he finished, silence went over the room, and we slept replaying The Leaking Drain over again in our head.