her general strict demeanor.
I drag myself out of bed, and let out a loud yawn. I had to squint, because of the bright room, and found my glasses. Once they were on, I turn the walls to a dark blue. Perfect for my depressed, shocked, and mostly tired mood.
The mess hall was filled with about sixty people, and that isn't including the staff overseeing everything and the lunch ladies (and one old man, in fact). A poster in the window read "Despite the name, please don't make a mess."
I chuckle.
The lunch line was short, and the food was just above decent. Then the real issue arose. Where do I sit? I saw no one that I knew, except for a guy my age I met when Dad and I went to D.C. for the House of Reps to meet. This was before the government change. His dad was an Illinois representative. He was pretty nice, but we were completely different. I was a jock, and he was a nerd, quite simply. Stereotypical, but true. I was into basketball, tennis, and wrestling, and he was into quantum physics, chess, and Pac-Man. Of all people, I didn't expect him here. He didn't seem like the "fight-crime, complete missions" type. More "sit and strategize". And, for all I know, he could be doing just that for us. He'd certainly be the best at it.
Appearances can be deceiving, though, and it's been a good few years since we met. I decided to take my chances and sit by him.
"Dakota, right?" I ask as I sat down across from him.
"Yes," he says. "You're... James?"
"Close," I answer. "Josh,"
"Got it," he says. "So, you just 'woke up?'"
What an obvious question, I think. "Uh, yeah, the alarms went off?"
"No, I mean that you just arrived out of the coma," he clarifys.
"Oh," I says. "Yeah." Facepalm... "How long have you been here?" I asks.
"About two weeks," Dakota says. "This place is crazy,"
"I know, everything is so hi-tech," I say. "I like it,"
"Yeah, that's super cool," he says. "But the 'lasertags' the best place to go. It's so fun."
I'm a bit dumbfounded. Dakota, who tucked in his nice dress shirt, and wore a belt everytime I had seen him, and had an IQ of at least 400, enjoying the lasertag? Not trying to be stereotypical, but he just wasn't the type. "I saw it," I say. "It looked dangerous,"
"It is," he says. "But that just makes it all the more fun
I drag myself out of bed, and let out a loud yawn. I had to squint, because of the bright room, and found my glasses. Once they were on, I turn the walls to a dark blue. Perfect for my depressed, shocked, and mostly tired mood.
The mess hall was filled with about sixty people, and that isn't including the staff overseeing everything and the lunch ladies (and one old man, in fact). A poster in the window read "Despite the name, please don't make a mess."
I chuckle.
The lunch line was short, and the food was just above decent. Then the real issue arose. Where do I sit? I saw no one that I knew, except for a guy my age I met when Dad and I went to D.C. for the House of Reps to meet. This was before the government change. His dad was an Illinois representative. He was pretty nice, but we were completely different. I was a jock, and he was a nerd, quite simply. Stereotypical, but true. I was into basketball, tennis, and wrestling, and he was into quantum physics, chess, and Pac-Man. Of all people, I didn't expect him here. He didn't seem like the "fight-crime, complete missions" type. More "sit and strategize". And, for all I know, he could be doing just that for us. He'd certainly be the best at it.
Appearances can be deceiving, though, and it's been a good few years since we met. I decided to take my chances and sit by him.
"Dakota, right?" I ask as I sat down across from him.
"Yes," he says. "You're... James?"
"Close," I answer. "Josh,"
"Got it," he says. "So, you just 'woke up?'"
What an obvious question, I think. "Uh, yeah, the alarms went off?"
"No, I mean that you just arrived out of the coma," he clarifys.
"Oh," I says. "Yeah." Facepalm... "How long have you been here?" I asks.
"About two weeks," Dakota says. "This place is crazy,"
"I know, everything is so hi-tech," I say. "I like it,"
"Yeah, that's super cool," he says. "But the 'lasertags' the best place to go. It's so fun."
I'm a bit dumbfounded. Dakota, who tucked in his nice dress shirt, and wore a belt everytime I had seen him, and had an IQ of at least 400, enjoying the lasertag? Not trying to be stereotypical, but he just wasn't the type. "I saw it," I say. "It looked dangerous,"
"It is," he says. "But that just makes it all the more fun
