EMMA PHILLIPS:
‘ Jack, ’ She began, her voice nothing short of pained WHINING as she leaned against him, attempting to walk more upright. ‘ I feel like I’m dying. Are we — —- everyone who’s … ’ Another cough escaped frail form, this one ironically placed. ‘ — — sick … are we gonna DIE? ’
He walked her over to the bed, careful in GUIDING her as opposed to dragging the dead weight of weak limbs. How desperately he would have liked to take off his mask and pull her into a comforting embrace, but the role he played now, and more important his health, outweighed his consequential desires. “ No ! ” He blurted, the truthfulness of his answer holding no importance. “ No, Emma. You’re not going to die. ” He asserted, a tinge of desperation in his tone, as if willing the notion to be true. Even he couldn’t quite believe his own voice, the lack of AUTHENTICITY prompting him to try again. “ It’s just, it’s just the flu. You’ve just got the flu is all. ”











