“I’ve done it!” In his hand he clutched a small black box, with a large conical microphone on one end and a wire connected to a small speaker on the other. On top was a solitary bulb, which glowed red, as if indicating a recording was in progress.
The coupon slid out from a mauled manila folder. Daniel examined it with only passing attention, just as he had the dozens of old receipts, crumpled sticky notes, and expired train passes that had been unearthed during his forced evacuation.
I don’t know why we hide under desks. Maybe the teachers know, but they haven’t explained very well. My older brother Jake says the drills at school are stupid. He says nothing will keep us safe.