A warm summer breeze blew a stray piece of hair against my face. He smiled at me and pushed it away. That smile was the reason I had fallen in love with him; it had an unusual, mysterious quality to it. It was a small half smile, and whenever I saw it I felt warm and secure. These days, that was an emotion as scarce as the sweet foods we'd had before the war. I sighed. My shoulders were tense. Somehow I'd subconciously come to expect the siren whose eery cries ran through the streets, warning all small children, all parents, all nurses and all young lovers to scurry on back into their houses. But it did not come. Today, it seemed, was ours.