Maths Homework

It's the end of the world and I'm teaching Maths to primary schoolers. To be more precise, Im teaching maths to exactly thirty-two primary schoolers; my little brother, and the kids we managed to yank with us out of various schools on our way out of the city. You know, all the ones who hadn't had their faces ripped off by their teachers or fellow pupils.

So, Maths. And science, sometimes. We're working on building a generator, and then maybe there'll be some kind of rudimentary technology and I'll get to introduce them to computer science, but for now, Maths.

Not because it's particularly useful, you understand, but because people want to keep the illusion that it'll all be okay one day, and I'll play along if it keeps them out of the firing line.

Most people don't quite get it. Maybe they saw a neighbour attack their dog, but most of the people who survived are either hardcore preppers, who've been waiting for this for years, or people who were far away from the worst of it, and can't even imagine what it's like to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that everyone you love is dead at best, or a mindless attack dog at worst.

These kids? They were there. I went in to grab them and I saw what they saw. They were splattered with blood. The ones who screamed were dead before we got here, but the quiet ones lasted long enough to see their friend's heads blasted off in front of them. They're all so quiet now. I never wanted to be a teacher, I figured the children would be too loud and irritating, but I'd take loud and irritating any day over the way these kids sit and stare silently for hours while I try to engage them.

I think it might actually be worse when they do get excited though. The only time that happens is when one of the guys in charge decides they need to see what we're up against, so they're more committed to stopping it. As if what they've already seen isn't enough. I don't let my brother go, but I can't stop any of the others kids; they either don't have parents or their parents would like to give them a gun and have them shoot the damn things. 

That's what the school is for, of course. As long as I can claim that they're learning, that they're preparing for the future, there are enough hopeful fools that the school stays open and attendance is compulsory. It doesn't fix the past but it sure as hell stops them having to see anymore. So I'll keep it open, even if it gets me dirty looks from people who think I should be fighting. Even if it means I have to mop up sick what feels like twenty times a day from children who were suddenly thrown back in time to the moment their friend/teacher/parent attacked them. Because they deserve better, and if I can't give them better I can at least give them what I've got, which is a safe space to deal with what happened for six hours a day.