Post by chrisv on May 10, 2017 11:27:38 GMT -5
REVISED
Today it takes only three minutes before my brain starts to ache, every muscle in my body tightening into painfully-compact coils. I slam my fist on the cafeteria table with a loud thud; the holograms floating above it blink and fizzle for a microsecond. Sitting across from me, Paum doesn’t even flinch.
“It’s no use,” I say. “It doesn’t matter how long we stare at these stupid things. We’ll never figure it out.” I throw a curt gesture at the holos—one of my beloved microbe DNA helix, the other a diagram of the chemical composition of the lethal substance floroclide.
“People are watching,” Paum says in his typical soothing voice. He’s right. I notice the surreptitious glances from nearby tables. Through the hazy holos I can make out his smile. “And don’t worry—we’ll figure it out. We’ve just been stuck for a little while, that’s all.”
I want to shake him by his firm, defined shoulders. A little while? He calls three godforsaken months a little while?
But I hold my tongue and shift my gaze to the window that spans the left side of the cafeteria. It looks out over a rolling, crisp, green lawn complete with a flagpole smack dab in the middle of it. Behind that loops a wide asphalt driveway with a series of cheery yellow school buses parked along it. The white and navy flag boasts our high school’s so-called symbol—the roman numeral XII, reflecting our sector.
I guess that’s pretty close to what the “perfect” high school front yard looked like a little over a millennium ago before The Great Blight started in 2022.
Today it takes only three minutes before my brain starts to ache, every muscle in my body tightening into painfully-compact coils. I slam my fist on the cafeteria table with a loud thud; the holograms floating above it blink and fizzle for a microsecond. Sitting across from me, Paum doesn’t even flinch.
“It’s no use,” I say. “It doesn’t matter how long we stare at these stupid things. We’ll never figure it out.” I throw a curt gesture at the holos—one of my beloved microbe DNA helix, the other a diagram of the chemical composition of the lethal substance floroclide.
“People are watching,” Paum says in his typical soothing voice. He’s right. I notice the surreptitious glances from nearby tables. Through the hazy holos I can make out his smile. “And don’t worry—we’ll figure it out. We’ve just been stuck for a little while, that’s all.”
I want to shake him by his firm, defined shoulders. A little while? He calls three godforsaken months a little while?
But I hold my tongue and shift my gaze to the window that spans the left side of the cafeteria. It looks out over a rolling, crisp, green lawn complete with a flagpole smack dab in the middle of it. Behind that loops a wide asphalt driveway with a series of cheery yellow school buses parked along it. The white and navy flag boasts our high school’s so-called symbol—the roman numeral XII, reflecting our sector.
I guess that’s pretty close to what the “perfect” high school front yard looked like a little over a millennium ago before The Great Blight started in 2022.
