This is story is based on the Muse on Monday prompt from September 4: Write a story about the first day of school. Make it unique.

Kharkiv Classroom

This is not how I imagined my first day of school. Most of the things we learned in the Education University don’t seem to apply here underground. But there are still students and it is still a classroom.

I get there an hour early, walking carefully down the subway steps to stand in my small classroom that has recently been built against the platform wall of the Peremoha station. It still smells like paint and industrial glue. I have made it as pretty as I could.

The children start to arrive half an hour later. There is a mix of excitement at going back to school with an edge of wariness that we have all gotten from living in a warzone. I guide the children into the classroom and help them to find their seats and put their bags on hooks at the back of the room. The classroom is so narrow that there are only two desks per row. Then all the little faces are looking up at me.

“Good morning, children,” I say, smiling broadly, although my hands are shaking. “Did you have a good summer?”

There are some nods and a few children say yes.

Maybe I should have joined the army after all. Right now, facing down an artillery barrage seems less scary than this. My friend Anna quit university to join right after the invasion. She’s leading a group of medics now in Luhansk. And here am I, nervous about leading fourteen kindergarteners.

A text comes on my phone. We are too deep to hear the siren, but there is an air raid alert outside.

“Would you like to sing a song?” I ask and we all stand up, and I lead them in a folk song.

There is a tremor in the walls. A few of the children look up nervously. We’ve all developed a sense for explosions, even far away.

“Let me tell you a story,” I say quickly.

The lights flicker and go out. A few kids give a scream. The emergency lights come on.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Come here, let’s sit on the story mat together.” I push desks away so we can all crowd together on the square of carpet next to my desk.

“Once upon a time there was a fairy,” I begin. The kids are all watching me, and I smile at them to show I am not afraid. Even though I am.

We tell stories until the lights come back on, and we break for recess. I have them all stand up and hold hands. Then I lead them along the subway platform to the bathrooms, holding the hand of the lead child.

This is where I am supposed to be, I realize. I may not be like Anna out there risking my life on the front lines, but I am here for these young lives, to lead them through the darkness and, eventually, out the other side.

Many schools in eastern Ukraine have been destroyed so they are having school in the subway system of Kharkiv since it is safer.