The Week That Was
by D.E. Lewis (Sherlockian221 at aol.com)
I finally got my brain off its lazy butt, and wrote the next part.
River study was uneventful, if you don't count Bradstreet getting thrown into
the river eight times for messing up everyone's experiments. Lestrade had found
herself slightly disgusted with her friends, Candid and Nicole, for falling
all over themselves about the new instructor, a German man named Fritz. The
whole walk back, Holmes watched as Lestrade rolled her eyes about the
mindless drivel the two women were spouting.
"And his accent! Oh, he is cute."
"I know. I so would date him if I wasn't with Jeremy."
He promptly found himself in a discussion with Lestrade.
"Do they do this a lot?"
"Oh, all the time, Holmes. I know, poor choice in the conversation
area, but they're great friends most of the time."
"Please tell me that all women in the 22nd Century aren't like that."
"No, just those that never grow up."
They reached the commons. It was 3:30. The group started talking. Hopkins,
who was beginning to look like a very good leader, got everyone quiet.
"Okay. We have free time, and supper is at 6:00. We need to be back here by
ten till, to be on time. Go do whatever until then." He dismissed the group.
Holmes followed Lestrade, trying to find out what you did. She told him she
was headed to archery, one of the extras, and to follow her, if he wanted to
come. Archery, was a little more challenging than River Study, and Holmes
returned with aching muscles.
"How could people do that?" Holmes remarked.
"My cousin does all the time. You just build up the required muscles after a
while," she replied.
They sat down in the group "D" area to get ready for
supper. Ten minutes later, they were at the mess hall. THe food didn't smell
too appealing to Holmes, or anyone else, for that matter. In fact, it was
downright disgusting. It appeared to be spaghetti, but no one was quite sure.
Lestrade wouldn't touch it, and ate everything else but the unidentifiable
object on her tray. Holmes saw Bradstreet empty his into a potted plant, and
Hopkins sneak some of his onto Grayson's plate when he wasn't looking.
Grayson was the only one who dared to eat it. Everyone else snickered. Holmes
decided he had to at least try it, so he did, and barely managed to swallow
He pushed the tray away. "Watson, what is that stuff?"
Watson took the question literally, unfortunately, and scanned it.
"Corrugated cardboard, stale buckwheat, water, eggs, semi-rancid milk,
pressed cow hooves. They call it Camp Spaghetti here." Holmes looked shocked,
and then did a double take as he realized that, while the whole place had
heard, no one looked shocked.
"Surprised at our reaction, Holmes?" Hopkins asked.
"Someone asks that question every year-"
"-and Watson always takes it literally," Lestrade finished.
They tried to finish the so-called food, but some only succeeded in
getting indigestion. They went to the dorms for bed.
I actually think that that's what was in our camp's spaghetti.
TO BE CONTINUED
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