RUN WITH IT

Peering down the barrel of my gun, I braced myself and took aim.

With careful precision, I calmly pulled the trigger.

‘Bang!’ I yelled, watching gleefully as my target burst into smithereens in front of me.

‘Come on son, time to go,’ a voice said, bringing an abrupt end to the battle.

As I carefully rested it against the wall, my assault rifle transformed back into a dirty old broom, and the war zone melted into a quiet school corridor.

At eight years old, I was obsessed with the Army. With my dad working as a school caretaker, I’d often hang out with him in the afternoons, and turn his assortment