I hate school. I hate the radioactive desks, the radioactive homework, the radioactive pieces of plutonium they had to put metal domes around. I miss the old days, back when asbestos was the biggest of my worries. I’d give up everything I have just to breathe in some fresh asbestos in a radioactivity free hallway.

As much as I hate the radioactivity, I hate the gas masks we have to wear even more. All of the cool kids take theirs off when no one is watching, but my mom straps mine on so goddamn tight that I can’t undo it without help. She also put my initials on it, which is mortifying.

My brother, who’s about to be a post apocalyptic high school grad, has it tough too. The college board got wiped out by the bombs, and the only SAT they could salvage was one from 2009 where every question just asks you to define “garrulous” or something. 

The one silver lining of this whole thing is that the death caused by the wars reminded the human race that we are all ultimately one. Peace has risen out of the ashes of destruction. World hunger is no longer an issue, and climate change got canceled out by all the nukes. Also, all the energy released by the war alerted an all powerful and benign alien race to our existence, and they have been helping us out bigtime. But at the same time, my goldfish got all fucked up from the radiation. I’d call it a wash.