A peaceful day in summer means another day of lounging outside with nothing to do but look at weirdly-shaped clouds. Phil was sitting on a lawn chair, looking at all the clouds that floated by on the summer breeze. That one looks like a duck. That one looks like a mushroom. Hold up, a mushroom? I need to get inside. The sky turned red. It started to snow. No, not snow.

This was ash. Nuclear fallout. Flakes of fallout rained down. Phil had just gotten into his house before the explosion reached his home. The door rattled. He could feel the heat emanating from the crack at the bottom of the door. He had to get downstairs, into the basement. Oh, the door was locked. Stuff towels under the front door! Do anything to avoid the fallout. He heard planes flying over, propellers whirring madly. They were his salvation! The military had sent out planes! Oh. They were the ones dropping bombs. Running around, picking up things that he needed, like food and water. He ran out of the house, dodging fallout, and, getting into his car, he drove away into what he hoped was safety.