Liza walked through the narrow hallway of the makeshift school, her footsteps echoing against the cracked linoleum floor. The school was a repurposed community center, with barely enough space to fit the influx of kids who had survived and now needed some semblance of normalcy. They didn't have much in the way of supplies, but the teachers did what they could with what they had. It was far from perfect, but it was something.
As Liza entered the small classroom where she taught elementary biology, she was greeted by Yan-Hua, one of the other teachers. Yan-Hua stood by the door, her arms folded, a calm but firm expression on her face. Yan-Hua had that no-nonsense demeanor about her that made people sit up and listen, but she was kind, too—especially with the kids.
"Morning, Liza," Yan-Hua said, giving her a polite nod. "Just a reminder—watch your language in front of the kids, okay? You've got to be careful. These are impressionable minds."
Liza rolled her eyes playfully but gave a casual wave of acknowledgment. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't worry, I'll keep it PG."
Yan-Hua raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue. "I mean it. I know you like to let things slip sometimes, but not here."
Liza grinned, flashing her a thumbs up. "I got this, promise."
With that, Yan-Hua left, and Liza stepped into the classroom. The room was filled with about twenty kids, their bright, curious faces staring up at her from old desks that had seen better days. Some of the desks wobbled, and the chairs didn't match, but the kids didn't seem to mind. They were used to the roughness of the world now.
"Alright, class!" Liza called out, clapping her hands to get their attention. "Today, we're gonna talk about human reproduction."
A ripple of giggles and whispers ran through the classroom as soon as she said it, and Liza couldn't help but smirk. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking, but this is serious biology stuff. None of that 'eww' nonsense, okay? This is how life works."
She picked up a piece of chalk and drew a basic diagram of the male and female reproductive systems on the old chalkboard, her movements quick and a little messy but accurate enough for the lesson. The kids watched, their eyes wide with interest.
"So, let's start with the basics," Liza said, tapping the board with the chalk. "This is how humans reproduce. You've got your sperm—" she pointed to the male reproductive system, "—and you've got your egg." She tapped the female diagram next. "When they meet, a baby can be made."
A few of the kids giggled again, and Liza grinned. "Hey, no giggling. This is science. I'll have you know this is how all of you got here, okay?"
One boy raised his hand, his expression serious. "Miss Liza, my mom said babies come from the stork."
Liza chuckled, shaking her head. "Yeah, that's what parents like to say when you're younger, but trust me, no storks involved. This is the real deal."
She continued explaining the process, breaking it down as simply as she could without getting too graphic. The kids were surprisingly attentive, most of them too young to fully understand the nuances, but curious enough to ask questions. Liza fielded them as best she could, keeping the lesson light but informative.
"Now, the sperm has to travel to meet the egg," Liza explained, pointing to the diagram again. "And when it does, boom, life begins. It's a race, and only one sperm wins."
She almost said, "It's a hell of a race," but caught herself just in time, quickly replacing it with, "It's a wild race."
One of the girls raised her hand. "How does the sperm get there?"
Liza paused, glancing around the room. She was walking a fine line here, and she had to be careful with her words. "Well, the sperm gets there when the two people—your parents—uh, you know, come together. It's something they do when they're ready to have a baby."
She could feel the giggles bubbling up in the classroom again, but she powered through. "It's not something you need to worry about right now. You'll learn more about it when you're older."
Another boy raised his hand, clearly more curious than embarrassed. "But how does it work?"
Liza sighed, realizing she was in deeper than she expected. She bit her tongue, avoiding the more colorful explanation that nearly slipped out. "It works... like this," she said, tapping the diagram again. "The sperm meets the egg, and then cells start multiplying, growing into a baby. It takes nine months for a baby to grow inside the mother. That's when you were all born."
"Does it hurt?" a girl asked, her voice full of genuine concern.
Liza nodded slowly, deciding to give an honest answer without scaring them. "Yeah, it can hurt. That's why moms are pretty amazing, because they go through all that pain to bring you into the world. It's not easy, but it's worth it."
The room quieted a little after that, the kids processing the information. Liza could tell some of them were still confused, but that was okay. This was just the introduction, and they'd figure the rest out in time.
As the lesson went on, she kept things light, making jokes where she could without crossing any lines. Every now and then, she'd catch herself almost letting a swear word slip, especially when she was explaining something frustrating, but she managed to rein it in at the last second.
At one point, she almost said, "The sperm has to work its ass off," but quickly changed it to, "The sperm has to work really hard to get to the egg."
When the lesson finally wrapped up, Liza put down the chalk and turned to the class. "Alright, kids, that's it for today. You all learned a lot about where babies come from, so when you go home, you can tell your parents all about how sperm and eggs work."
A chorus of giggles filled the room again, and Liza couldn't help but smile. "But don't tell them I said anything weird, okay? Just stick to the facts."
As the kids began gathering their things and filing out of the classroom, Yan-Hua reappeared at the door, giving Liza a knowing look.
"You didn't swear, did you?" Yan-Hua asked, raising an eyebrow.
Liza grinned. "Not even once."
Yan-Hua nodded approvingly. "Good. Keep it that way."
Liza waved her off with a laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I got this."
As the last of the kids left, Liza leaned against the desk, feeling a mix of exhaustion and pride. Teaching kids about human reproduction wasn't exactly her idea of a good time, but she'd managed to get through it without dropping any f-bombs.
And that, in itself, was a small miracle.
***
Yabe stood by the door of the small clinic, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to steady her breathing. It was her first day on the job as a nurse, and while she had been mentally preparing herself for it, nothing could have prepared her for what came next.
The door slammed open, and two men rushed in, half-carrying, half-dragging a third man whose stomach was split open, blood pouring from the gaping wound. His intestines were starting to spill out, and the sight of it hit Yabe like a punch to the gut. Her stomach lurched, and she had to fight the urge to gag.
"Oh gosh," she whispered, her voice barely audible as her vision blurred for a moment.
The other nurses moved quickly, but Yabe stood frozen, her legs feeling like lead. The patient was laid out on a stretcher, moaning in pain, and the room filled with the metallic scent of blood. Yabe's hands were shaking, her mind racing with panic.
Hazuki, a petite, experienced nurse with long, silky white hair and a calm demeanor, was already by the man's side. She glanced at Yabe, her face serious but composed. "Yabe," she said, her voice steady but firm. "Snap out of it. I need you to focus."
Yabe blinked, swallowing hard, her throat dry. She wanted to help, she needed to help, but the sight of the man's insides spilling out made her feel like she was going to be sick.
Hazuki didn't have time for hesitation. She grabbed a pair of gloves and snapped them on, her movements quick and efficient. "Yabe!" she repeated, louder this time, her sharp voice cutting through Yabe's daze. "I need you to hand me the tools. Now."
Yabe's breath hitched, but she nodded, forcing herself to move. She fumbled with the tray of surgical tools, her hands trembling as she grabbed the first instrument and handed it to Hazuki. The room felt like it was spinning, but she couldn't let herself fall apart. Not now.
The patient groaned in pain, his voice weak, and Yabe's stomach twisted again, but Hazuki's focus never wavered. She began working, her hands moving with precision as she applied pressure to the wound.
"Hold this," Hazuki instructed, handing Yabe a clamp. Yabe took it, her fingers brushing against the blood-soaked gauze. Her entire body screamed at her to look away, to run, but she didn't. She couldn't. She stayed where she was, clamping down on the section of intestine as Hazuki started to work.
"Good," Hazuki said, her voice a touch softer now, though still firm. "Just keep steady. We're going to fix this."
Yabe swallowed hard again, doing her best to hold the clamp steady as Hazuki began stitching the man's stomach back together. The sounds of the sutures tightening, the patient's shallow breathing, the sterile clinks of metal on metal—all of it felt overwhelming, but Yabe forced herself to focus on the task at hand.
"Forceps," Hazuki said, her voice calm.
Yabe quickly handed over the tool, her movements still shaky but faster now. Hazuki worked quickly, her hands knitting the wound back together with a kind of delicate strength that Yabe found herself in awe of.
The room was filled with tension, the air thick with the weight of the emergency, but Hazuki remained collected, guiding Yabe through the steps with a quiet confidence. "You're doing fine," she said, glancing up for a moment. "Just stay with me. We're almost there."
Yabe nodded, trying to keep her hands steady as Hazuki continued to stitch up the gash in the man's stomach. Sweat trickled down Yabe's back, and her heart pounded in her ears, but slowly, the panic that had gripped her began to fade.
Hazuki didn't stop moving, her focus unwavering. "Scissors," she called out.
Yabe handed them over, her breath steadying now, though the nausea still lingered in the back of her throat. She watched as Hazuki carefully cut away the excess thread, her hands moving with a grace and precision that only came from years of experience.
Finally, Hazuki tied off the last suture, and the patient's wound was closed. Blood still oozed around the edges, but the worst of the damage had been contained. Hazuki let out a small breath and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
Yabe stared at the man on the stretcher, her mind still trying to process what had just happened. Part of her couldn't believe they had actually done it—Hazuki had saved him, and she had helped, even if it had been in a small way.
Hazuki straightened up, glancing at Yabe with a nod. "You did good, Yabe."
Yabe blinked, her voice hoarse. "I... I don't know. I almost—"
"But you didn't," Hazuki interrupted gently, her gaze softening. "You stayed. That's what matters."
Yabe looked down at her blood-stained gloves, her stomach still queasy but her mind clearer now. She had stayed. She hadn't run.
"Thanks," Yabe muttered, her voice quiet.
Hazuki smiled slightly, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You'll get used to it. The first day's always the hardest."
Yabe nodded, still feeling a little shaky, but there was a strange sense of pride mixed in with the lingering nausea. She hadn't given up. She had helped.
As the other nurses began to wheel the patient out of the room for further observation, Yabe took a deep breath, pulling off her gloves and tossing them into the bin.
Hazuki started cleaning up the station, her movements calm and methodical. "You're going to be a great nurse, Yabe," she said softly. "It's not about being fearless. It's about staying focused, even when everything inside you is screaming to look away."
Yabe looked at her, feeling a surge of respect for the calm, composed nurse who had just led her through one of the most intense moments of her life. "Thanks," Yabe said again, this time with more confidence.
Hazuki gave her a nod, her expression warm. "Anytime."
As the clinic began to settle down, Yabe leaned against the counter, her breath finally evening out. The memory of the blood, the gaping wound, the feel of the clamp in her hand—it would stay with her for a while. But now, she knew she could handle it.
Q: At what age did you learn about the "birds and the bees"?