A story of war

As I came out of the shelter, my metal bodyguard, with our neighbours in utter distress, with everyone knowing that this was just another fragile example of Hitler's dangerous game of battleships, I wept. My head drowned in the sense of relief while my arms constantly shivered with a curious trickling feel of sorrow. I regrettably reminded myself that this might not be the final time my guilt shadowed my innocence. I realised I might never be able to stay calm. The striking Victorian house next door breathed its last breath as it fell asleep whilst the black sky began to mourn.
I tried not to cry but the intense wind brutally forced the delicate tears out of my eyes. It seemed like it was impossible for my emotions to control themselves. They needed a guardian. My parents cried into each other's shoulders for comfort, making me feel like I was the only reason for them not falling apart altogether. My cousin collapsed into the arms of the reassuring wind, singing its mellifluous lullaby. I really felt for Peter. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that my parents were there, alive, training me to be a better fighter in this maddening life.
My face was stinging with distress with a side effect of hurt. My head is an icicle attempting not to melt though a few brief moments made me think otherwise. I thought that the ice was a sign. A sign for me to calm down for I know that I've been very anxious. My nails were almost shredded indicating that I had been biting them. The wind started to die down to a small breeze, solidifying my tears into glistening crystals that slowly drifted down my pale face, tickling my skin like they were somehow trying to cheer me up. I knew that wasn't going to happen for a while.
I had been wandering in circles, round and round, for all this time and so had my pounding mind. It pounded as if the lost souls of each and every one of the soldiers that helped in this war were leaping around, fighting, on my head. I now felt confused. Traipsing over the garden left me worried about how other people were feeling. I knew my mother was still worried about whether my father would be asked to go to war. She acted as if every moment was precious; treasured each one if it was the last with the greatest worry. I did too.
My father I thought about the most. He pretended, I think he pretended, that everything was going to be all right. Although I could tell he was lying to protect me, it still calmed down. The moonlight drizzled onto the patio, creating swirls that collided with my thoughts. The stars shimmered like they were trying to be the centre of attention. Dancing right in front of my eyes so my vision was focused on them. It started to rain. Little beads of precipitation inched their way down only to land sharply and predictably. I thought that must be a boring life.