139 Years to the End of the World

Year One, Part Three

Apparently, my wife was named after a saint called Joan who was from an arc. I had never heard of her in all my lifetime and had no idea why she would be from under a doorway. According to my wife, Joan the saint lived a few hundred years before the Mist even came into our world. A lot of information before the time of the Mist was lost. Despite it being just sixty five years apart, only fragments remained from the knowledge of the older generations. Only now, when the world has regained stability are there any concentrated efforts at rediscovering and preserving them.

I don't know about this Joan of Arc, but my wife was definitely a saint. I can only imagine the doubts and fear going through her mind right then, but her strength to look at me with a smile ceaselessly amazed me. Professor Leah left us alone in a room to make the decision of whether I wanted to freeze myself while my parents took my daughter, Leila, to have a quick tour of the facilities with Agent Matthews.

They had left us in what seemed to be an employees lounge of sort. There was a small, circular, plastic table surrounded by chairs that appeared to be a place to eat. Beside it was a simple counter topped with a microwave, mini-fridge, and a coffee machine. A single potted plant in a corner provided the only sense of colour to the otherwise dull-white walls and colour scheme. Even the floor, while carpeted, was a boring shade of office blue.

The two of us sat in an out of place maroon couch beside the plant, Joan leaning her head against my shoulder. She was still in her work clothes. As a herbalist working in the Sun Dome, her white shirt was stained with patches of dried mud, as was her denim shorts. She had obviously rushed down from work as part of her hands had dried spots of dirt left, meaning she did not get a chance to wash them properly. Since the Mist came, plant life on the planet had dwindled drastically. People with knowledge of plants and nature became well-sought after specialists in an attempt to revive the world's greeneries.

"So what are you going to do?" she asked as I brushed back the fringe of her short dark hair. She was just shy a year older than I was at 31, yet her body, petite and lithe, was so much smaller than mine, her head at my shoulder at standing height. Sometimes I wonder how could such a small, fragile looking woman be strong enough to support me, especially at times like that, and I thanked everything from the sky to the earth for bringing us together.

I contemplated silently as she patiently awaited my answer. "I want to take the offer." It had been barely ten minutes since we sat down together, and already it felt like I've had years to think it through. My wife had that effect on me, clearing my mind, calming my soul. "I don't want to live for two weeks, just to leave you and Leila behind. I want to be there, for the important parts of your lives."

She looked up at me, my face reflected in her clear, hazel eyes. "Then go," she said gently. And as if she read my mind, she continued, "You don't have to worry about us. There's less you can do in the next two weeks than you can in your next five days."

"I'm just thinking, what about money? I have insurance that you can claim if I die, but I don't think 'cryogenic freezing' counts on anything."

The look of concern on my face must have been crystal clear, for her lips were pouted in annoyance. "I told you not to worry. Besides, the Forum's willing to leave us enough money to last for a whole generation."

"Wait, really?" I replied in disbelieve.

"Yeah, so go. Freeze yourself!" she said excitedly, jabbing me playfully in the arms.

I squinted my eyes in wary, "You just want the money don't you."

A devilish smile stretched across her curved face. "Of course!" she laughed a playful laugh. A mesmerizing laugh, continuing her coltish jabs.