T O O F A R G O N E
[ B O O K O N E ]
❛ and i can feel my
every breath unfold. ❜
Ninety-seven years after the destruction of a nuclear war that wiped out almost the entire human race, survivors are faced with yet another...
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IRISWASOVERWHELMED with a deep ache of anxiety. Her mind running haywire as the mere thought of her birthday coming up in less than two weeks left a scarring pang of fear.
She was going to die in twelve days, just like her father, for the petty crime of stealing moonshine dealt by the hands of her horrible mother. There was no way around her inevitable death. It was going to happen. She was going to die, and that scared her more than anything.
Her high-strung mind was keeping her on edge, coming up with various catastrophic, macabre scenarios that leveled her nervousness to the ceiling. And for that, she was pacing around her small cell, letting out shaky breaths every now and again.
Murphy was laying in an immense tranquility. His eyes glued shut as he engulfed himself in the joyous, recollection of memories before he got locked up. Iris assumed he was still in a deep slumber, as it was an early hour of the morning, but the truth was that he had awoken the same time as her; only he was pretending to be asleep. He wasn't really in the mood to look at her innocent, hopeful gaze of gratitude.
Iris blew out a huff of breath, running both of her shaky hands over her face as she kept a consistent, angst velocity. She was growing rather irritated and annoyed with herself for being so easily drawn to the apprehension of her worrying thoughts.
"Would you stop pacing?" John spoke nonchalantly, his voice filled with annoyance.
Iris jumped, feeling her heart skip a beat. She groaned, turning to Murphy with a scowl. "God, I thought you were sleeping."
"How can anyone sleep while you're walking around like a crazy person?" He responded with a question, peeling both eyes open.
"How long have you been awake?" She asked, running her fingers through her knotted hair as an alternate brush.
John scoffed, "Long enough to know that you're an excessive over-thinker who talks to herself."
She rolled her eyes dramatically, stopping in her tracks. "I have twelve days left to live!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air in frustration. "I'm going to be dead. D-E-A-D. Dead. No longer living. No longer breathing. Gone. I have no choice but to be freaking out right now. When you're close to death, you'll be freaking out too."
