Radiation Children

2

In ninth grade world history, Mr. Helcos demonstrated the Socratic method by asking me, "What is honor?" When I shrugged and answered doubtfully, "Helping society?" he turned to Heidi. "So what, then, is honorable conduct?" After she responded a moment later with, "I have no idea," he shot question after question around the class, which led us into a debate about when cheating is okay, or if torture is successful, or what exactly the term art means in the twenty-first century. Mr. Helcos ended the discussion by heaving a satisfied sigh that came from deep in his beer belly. "The Socratic method is supposed to help us reveal our own truths." 

My own truths. My own truth then was that the Socratic method was kind of stupid because if you failed a test, you failed a test, and that was a fact. My own truth this morning was that I was going to go to school and get a B on a biology test and go to a food truck with Heidi after school to work on our science fair project (the toxicity of metals in dental amalgram fillings). There was nothing subjective about that. 

My own truth in the middle of my school hallway was also a fact: the world was ending. 

Heat heat heat. That's all there was. It ripped through my skin and dug right down to the bone, made my nerve endings jump to life. My vision filled with white; a trilling, high-frequency ring rocked my skull. Then the ringing ended, and sounds came back in snapshots of a slowed-down world: 

The snap of my head against the tiled floor. Heidi's shriek right beside my ear. Heavy footfalls over the crunch of broken glass. Mutilated voices.

Sensations came back, too, and the scene rushed in just as quick as it slowed down: dark, bulky silhouettes waded through the remaining stars that dangled in front of my eyes. My glasses pressed hard against the bridge of my nose. The unbearable heat faded away to an uncomfortable tingle. My fingers swiped against something wet as they brushed against the floor, I kicked my legs to get them working again, my jaw worked to form the words, Heidi, are you okay? 

I felt distant from all of it. 

One of the bulky figures hauled me to my feet. 

"Up you get," growled a man's voice. He pulled me so close to him that I could see the sweat beading on his waxy skin and the fever-brightness of his eyes. 

He yanked me in the direction of the cafeteria. I coughed smoke from my lungs and twisted backward to look for Heidi—she wasn't there...just scary big men and women wielding guns larger than my body and a catastrophe of smoke plumes and shattered glass. 

My captor jerked me around and pushed me through the cafeteria.  

Emotions hazed, blurred into a muddy mosaic that left me too numb to cry out. 

The cafeteria was a different world than the one I left five minutes ago. Invaders stampeded through the maze of tables, hauling students up by the arms and shoving them into the middle of the room. I bit down hard on my lower lip, held my glasses by the bridge to keep them from tumbling off my face, and exhaled. 

Stay calm, stay—

A gunshot exploded through the cacophony. I jumped and turned my attention to the far side of the cafeteria. The invaders had taken at least a dozen teachers, lined them up, and pointed guns at their heads. 

My own truth, a truth devoid of any subjectivity, was everyone's reality: teachers were being executed before our very eyes and it was not like a horror movie where you can pause, slow down, or mute right before the slasher scene happens. The executions happened fast, onetwothreefourfive, and the shots made the ground vibrate. Blood splattered over the wall behind the victims, darkened the clothes of the invaders, and ran in bright red rivers past the tables. I closed my eyes when an invader pressed the muzzle of his weapon to the sixth teacher in the line: Mr. Helicos. Crack.