“The radiation will kill you,” I tell her, but she doesn’t listen. She wants out. She’s tired of this life without sun. Without open space. Without joy.
It’s been five hundred and seven days since the event came without warning. Luckily we got underground in time. But we had no time to look back. No final glimpse of Earth as we knew it. That mushroom cloud and the fast approaching nuclear winds would be our last impression of home.
“You really want out, don’t you?”
Read the rest of the tale and 100 more stories in 300 words or less in YOU’RE GETTING SLEEPY, THE HYPNOTIST’S APPRENTICE YAWNED.