notion • john murphy

YEAR ONE & TWO.

[ ON THE RING ]

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YEAR ONE.

It had been a week since they had reached the ring, a week since they had left the now-irradiated planet they once called home, a week since they had left Clarke, a week since Sayah had breathed the real air.

And it was a week, that it had taken Sayah to build up the courage to actually have a serious conversation with John Murphy.

It was late, she knew that, everyone was probably asleep or if not, just in bed. The ring was quiet, except for the constant machine hum that Sayah was worried she'd never get used to. She stood in front of large window that showcased the once beautiful Earth, now covered in a dangerous, toxic orange.

A hiss was heard from the distance, but Sayah didn't turn her head, knowing what the sound of the door opening meant. "Couldn't sleep?" A voice called and it was hard to control her small smile.

"No, not really. You?" She replied, feeling the figure find it's way beside her, arms close to touching. She knew it was him, she had known it even before he spoke.

"Not used to being back on the Ark, I guess." John Murphy hummed, and Sayah turned to look at him. His hair was slightly ruffled—he had been tossing and turning, she assumed—and his eyes were tired, shoulders slumped lazily. He wore a simple dark t-shirt and Sayah silently agreed that yes, he did look good in black.

He turned to her, eyes gentle. "Figured you'd be out here."

"Really?" She hummed, turning back to the look at the front.

"Yeah, well, can't see many stars, but, I guess technically we're with them, right? So, this is as good as it gets." He paused. "Don't you think?"

   "Stuck on a ring with you for five years?" Sayah snorted. "Please, it's my worst nightma—"

   "Lifelong dream?" He cut in, grinning. "I thought so."

   Sayah chuckled lightly, before her gaze fell to the ground. She cleared her throat—she was never good at these things. The serious talking thing. She liked to think she was. . . but then again, they both did. Hell, Murphy probably thought he led the conversation.

Sayah sighed, "I'm sorry for going off in the truck, back when we were on our way to grab Raven. I've just been, I don't know, bottling things up too much, maybe. A lot has happened."

   Nodding, Murphy replied, "It's okay. It was fair. I should've told you—about the Baylis-thing and about the. . . other thing." He exhaled deeply. "I'm sorry too."

   A moment of silence. "Luna's gone."

"I assumed that much." Murphy replied, and Sayah could never get mad at his lack of seriousness at certain times—it was who he was, and she, more than anyone, understood how he acted. "Heard she went off the rails anyway." He remarked. There was a long pause. "I'm sorry."

Sayah shook her head, pursing her lips. "She had always had problems with that. She was brought up a killer, the lifestyle swallowed her whole eventually."