Tyde’s been really upset lately, and he’s constantly snapping. I’m trying not to let it get to me too much, but it’s kind of hard when we’re trying to survive and running out of food and water. I’m so tired lately, I miss my Nan. I’m too lost in thoughts to concentrate. I miss painting. My thoughts are all over the place.
About an hour after thinking and stressing myself out, Tyde came and sat down by me, “Hey.”
I looked at him, “Hi.”
“How are you feeling?” He mumbled, and his eyes crossed over my face a thousand times.
“Gross,” I replied with tension.
“I was going to suggest that we start trying to cross over to America,” Tyde suggested, then blatantly stopped.
“But..? What?” I questioned nervously. I watched him turn his neck to me, showing a deep purple rash. I gasped and started crying. Three weeks, I’ve known this guy. Three weeks and he’s sick. Three weeks and I’m already losing probably the most important tool I have to get to an uninfected, non-diseased place.
“How? We were so careful...”
“Please don’t cry. I don’t know, I’ll just stay here. Go.” He stared me dead in the face. And that’s when I knew we were crushed. There was no resolution, or getting to America. We were going to die here.
