Nothing To Sneeze At

"And are you really there?" Asked Felicity looking around the room.

"Why do you think we are wearing masks?" Said, Mark.

Felicity was not the sister of science, far from it, but she realized how absurd it was to try to see Gina. It is not as absurd as trying to make yourself invisible and instead of transforming yourself into ...

"She's a cloud of living things," said Mark, whose another role as Gina's assistant made him feel proud of his wife's success. But Gina had achieved her goal — she was invisible.

There were bio-hazard signs on the door, their suits needed connected radio mics to chat, and he had seen other suits walking out with military symbols.

"Is he, I don't know, infected?"

The visor did not show much of Mark's face, but Felicity heard the laughter in his voice. "We are working on ways to stop him, to put him in - to connect with him."

He wanted to ask how this could happen, how a person could still be like a cloud and keep something of his personality. But if Mark had told her, she would not have understood. Instead, another sudden thought arose: that there was nothing meaningful about anything that was in the air. That Gina, probably because of Mark's unconscious knowledge, was just a vapor. That this was not a wonderful place of success but when the unhappy sister just tried to disappear.

"Is there a way to postpone the process?" he asks, his voice hoarse as it exceeds his previous thoughts.

At least Mark was modest enough not to reply to that one. Thank God my mother was not there to hear this. My father would be proud because, well, science — but my mother would see that her daughter was a ghost, probably doing more than rap under the tables and tearing up the curtains ... but still a ghost.

Felicity portrays Mark lifting her up in the air, perhaps getting one of those magicians of a children's party to create a sculptured human balloon so that Gina has something like a "body." Nonsense.

"Do you have any more questions?" You're out of patience now. They both had to sign consent forms that would give Gina any "process" that awaited her new kind of cloud. For all her dangers in her examination, Gina had kept this defense. The wisdom that angered her husband.

"If I say goodbye ..." said Felicity hoping to deny it but still hearing the screams of his voice. He unbuttoned the hood, lifted it, and resisted the temptation to absorb the deep, breaking air.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was suddenly blocked as the speakers on her doors had been disconnected when she pulled it back.

"I want to talk to the sister," he told her. It shines in the air. Probably. He may have been thinking of you. However, he smiled, hoping that something was visible in the sentence - or at least he could not hear the warmth he was trying to convey. "Is this what you want, Gina? Before I sign, I have to be sure."

"She can't answer you! Well, Felicity! Put on the hood again!"

"I need a sign." She thinks of a sign, who likes to cry.

As they waited, Mark became impatient, and he had to admit that any danger to them had passed.

"I don't think he's even here," Felicity said, and when he arrived, he untied his hood and pulled it back.

"No, you're wrong--"

He felt the air as it moved, or rather away from what was moving away from him. Mark gasped, his eyes swollen, his eyebrows raised in shock, his throat swollen like water filling two parallel pipes.

He fell to his knees and hit hard so that he could not be chosen. It was the right position though: to kneel, to ask for forgiveness.

No one was coming.

My mother was right about him.

Felicity opened her door - not because Gina might open it next, just to keep her story unchanged. He ran to the door, hit it with a hammer.

"The idiot took off his hat! I think ... I think he's dead!"

He would not sign. He would find a way to take Gina home, finding out what her sister wanted.

Besides, the world was full of Marks. And having Gina certainly provided more protection than a tin can.