UNO
Mason Springer-Lipton
“Miss Hope, was that thunder?”
“Miss Hope?”
“Miss Hope!?”
Daisy Hope blankly stared at her phone screen. At her sides, Ryan and Tina pressed their tiny bodies up against her, looking up at her vertically with wide, concerned eyes. From their angle, they couldn’t see the flashing, red emergency alert.
Another boom rattled the school building, shuddering the closets and roof tiles and sending dust slowly drifting to the floor.
Ryan let out another worried whine. “Miss Hope?!”
Almost instinctively, Daisy responded in her sweet, warm voice she’d had turned on since seven that morning. “Yes, Ryan?” But it came more out hoarse, weak, breaking. Her mouth felt dry, her throat taut. A sour soup swirled in her stomach.
“Was that thunder? Ryan asked again. “I’m scared.”
“Is it going to lightning?” Tina added.
“I don’t…” Daisy swallowed. “I don’t know, sweety.”
Another boom, this one knocking down a Lego globe which rested on a nearby bookshelf. The piece shattered in its own, terrifying explosion, shooting pieces across the room.
Now the kids began to snap to attention: the threat had become personal.
“The globe!!” Ahmed, George, and Jackson screamed in distress, running over to the carcass. Daisy snapped her attention to the boys on the ground–her chest beginning to heave and heave and heave–and then looked out the window to the city beyond.
In the distance she saw fighter jets weaving between skyscrapers, and then in an instant, a fireball exploded against a building, sending a shockwave rippling towards them. It hit the school suddenly, creating cracks along the windows and knocking down books from the bookshelf.
“Ow!” George screamed. “Ow, my head!”
“What’s going on!?” Ryan whined louder.
“Miss Hope, I’m scared!” Tina pleaded.
Daisy breathed, faster and faster and faster and,
This couldn’t be happening.
“Dragonflies!” Daisy Hope announced, channeling both authority and gentleness. She needed to remain calm, composed, and in control. Somehow.
She needed to get them away from the window.
“Dragonflies! We’re going to play a game!”
“What game!?” Jackson asked, head snapping up.
“I don’t want to play a game!” Lily groaned from the table, where she’d been drawing since aftercare began.
“We’re going to play Uno! Over here by the desk!”
“Yay, Uno!” Ryan cheered.
“I’m bleeding!” George cried, running to Daisy, hands stained with the crimson liquid that now pooled on his head where a book had struck him.
Daisy embraced him in an instant, pulled him into her chest, and continued.
“Winner gets a bag of M&Ms!”
“What!?”
“I want it!”
“Dragonflies! Everyone over here, please!” Daisy moved to the desk, slowly and deliberately, keeping George close to her side. He was crying now.
With her free hand she grabbed the box of Uno from the desk and turned to Ryan.
“Ryan, can you please deal for everyone?”
“How come Ryan gets to deal?” Ahmed whined, but his voice was drowned out by the screaming of a jet engine flying over the building, leaving Daisy’s ears sore and ringing. It rattled the windows again, the cracks growing.
“What was that!?”
“What’s going on!?”
“Ryan, please give everyone seven cards. We’ll count together.”
All six kids sat in a circle behind Daisy’s large, teaching desk. They were all small enough that if the window shattered the desk would–should–protect them.
“One, two, three,” Daisy started, opening a lower drawer and taking out the first-aid kit. “Four, five, six, seven.”
They started again. “One, two, three,” Daisy opened the kit, grabbed the gauze, and pressed it on the top of George’s head. “Four, five, six, seven.”
“Is George playing?” Tina asked suddenly.
“Not–”
A massive, concussive blast slammed into the building. The windows shattered. Glass flew everywhere, tinkling off the walls and roof, sinking into the carpet. One shard tore a line through Daisy’s cheek, but she didn’t feel it.
Out of the ringing in her ears and bleating of alarms slowly came the screaming of the children. And crying.
“What’s going on!? What’s going on!?”
Behind them, a light fixture swung loose from the ceiling, and then crashed in an explosion of sparks. The live wire that remained spat and writhed in the air by the only exit, locking them in. There was no escape.
And now, blowing around on a freezing gust, dust went everywhere. Daisy could smell it, smell smoke, and taste blood in her mouth.
“I want my Mommy!”
“Dragonflies!” Daisy croaked, reaching into the top drawer of her desk and producing a bag of M&Ms. “Let’s keep playing! This is like a thunderstorm, ok? It will go away.”
“I want my Mommy!” Lily bawled, running to Daisy, who pulled her close.
Ryan, Ahmed, and Tina were all whimpering and sobbing too. This was a losing battle.
Daisy Hope opened her arms, and the children came running in.
It was all falling apart. Everything.
She wanted to call her Mom, her friends. But her phone was across the room.
We’re going to die, Daisy thought, we’re going to die.
“Miss Hope,” Tina blubbered.“Are we going to die?”
“No.” Daisy Hope said. “We’re not going to die.”
That was when the ash cloud descended. It enveloped them, swallowed them, hugged them. The world became small, and it tasted of soot, smoke, and rot.
A word escaped Daisy’s mouth, quivering and lonely. “Shit…”
“What?” Ryan asked, looking up from the grime of the ash.
Daisy swallowed. “Nothing.”
“You said ‘shit.’ That’s a potty word. My Daddy says it.”
“Shit!” Ahmed said with a grin, tears still staining his face.
Somehow, Daisy Hope smiled.
“Let’s all say some potty words,” she said, warmly. Then she opened the bag of M&Ms and shoved a handful into her mouth.
“Really?” George said, looking up from under her arm, blood dripping down his face.
“Yes, really.” She grinned, beginning to hand out the M&Ms freely. “Crap.”
“Crap!” Ryan yelled, chewing. “Shit!”
“Shit! Crap!” Tina laughed.
“Fuck!” Daisy yelled into the smoke.
“Fuck! Shit! Poopy!”
They were all laughing now, heaving in big lungfuls of ash and chocolate.
“Fuck fuck FUCK!!!” Daisy bellowed.
“Crap!”
“Pee-pee! Poo-poo! Fuck! Shit!”
“Hehe. Pee-pee.”
They all laughed, and then they all cried.
Mason Springer-Lipton is a History major with a creative writing minor, and he plans on graduating in 2026. He is from Highland Park, NJ (yes, the one right across the bridge), and you can find him there perusing the streets on his bike or camping out on a park bench with a book.
Mason wrote this piece in a course taught by Paul Blaney, who selected this piece for inclusion in WHR.