Crnch… Crnch… Crnch… Crnch… Crnch…
The forest floor crunched under his boots as he limped down the trail. He couldn’t see very far ahead, the fog was thick. Everything was coated in white, obscuring all but the dead trees around, and the path about five feet ahead. It was quiet, except for the crunch of his boots, and his breathing. That was a different matter entirely in his head; a constant, godawful, ear-splitting ring droned on incessantly.
The path was now narrowing, the trees closing in on both sides until the path was barely wide enough for one person to walk. The dead forest became so dense, it wouldn’t have been easy to see much of anything even without the fog. He stopped moving. One end of an old rope bridge was just identifiable. He started walking again, about to step on, when something grabbed his shoulder. He could feel a finger on the back of his neck, ice cold. The rest of the hand sprang onto his neck, grabbing around his throat...
Chris jolted awake, sitting up. His breathing was heavy and uneven, heart racing. ’Breathe. his mind barked. Inhale… Exhale… In… Out… In… Out… He felt himself calming down. He held his forehead with one hand as he slid over and sat on the edge of his bed. He was calming down. Good. Just a dream. That’s all. He glanced at the digital clock, the digital numbers on the glass panel reading ‘5:00 am.’ He scratched his head with his other hand. “... Shit,” he muttered, flopping back onto his back on the bed. It was still dark, and kind of cold.
He walked over to the table and chairs where he’d tossed a duffel full of clothes. He hadn’t bothered to unpack, wouldn’t be long until they moved him. Already wearing lounge pants and socks, he grabbed a t-shirt and hastily threw it on. Better. Warmer. A bit, anyway. He turned on his bedside lamp, the closest source of light. It wasn’t really sufficient to light the room, instead casting a gloomy glow across it. Fine by him. He couldn’t really handle being in full light then anyway, too much eye strain. Better to adjust slowly. He pulled his pistol out from behind a little nook in the headboard of the bed, and carried it over to the table. He changed out of the lounge pants he’d slept in and into a pair of fading blue/grey jeans. He put on a red plaid shirt, and then threw his favorite black utility coat over top. After lacing up his boots, and sticking the gun in a concealed spot in the coat, he walked out of the room. Not even bothering to shut the light off, he closed the door behind him.
He sat on a bench outside, hands in his jacket pockets. It was still dark out, but he had to get out of his room. Nobody else seemed to be up and out at the time. At least, not in the same area, anyway. Some might have found sitting out there by themselves lonely, but he didn’t mind. Would it have been better with someone else there? Maybe. But who else in their right mind was going to be up at five thirty in the morning to go sit outside in the dark? He pulled a shiny metal object out of a pocket in the jacket: a simple harmonica. He sat there and played as he waited for the sun to rise. He watched it come up, bringing light and heat with it. After the initial sunrise was over, he stood up, and walked back to his room. It was time to get ready for the rest of the day.
Chris just ducked into the classroom and into his seat before the teacher entered the room himself.
“Good morning students, I am your dearest professor, Mr. Jovice…”
Chris listened to the professor’s beginning spiel, but caught himself zoning out once the lecture started. All it took was a simple thought command, and, done. His eye was now recording the lecture, just in case. He would be paying attention from then on, of course, but it was good to have a backup plan. The professor suddenly pointed at Chris.
“You there, lad. What’s your name?”
Chris looked up at him from his seat. “Chris, sir.”
“Alright, Chris. Can you tell me why this time period was called the Age of Idiocracy?”
Chris scratched the back of his neck. “Because they bought the same Call of Duty for 25 years in a row?”
A couple repressed chuckles could be heard from the back of the room. Mr. Jovice gave Chris a mixture between a confused and disgusted look. “What? No. What are you even going on about?” The professor took a second look at Chris, and sighed. “Lad, why aren’t you in uniform?” Chris glanced down. He was wearing the slacks and the shirt, at least, but he substituted the jacket out for his own utility jacket.
“I had a rough morning.”
“... Change as soon as possible.”
“Yessir.”