Overhead the flag rippled in the wind as he surged forward; keeping his balance, step after step, getting closer to home and safety. His rifle slung over his shoulder must have weighed a hundred pounds and was gaining weight with each labored footstep. Images of Sarah by the fire knitting, her beaming face changing with the flames as shadows danced on her image. Up ahead he could not yet see the cabin but smoke was rising where the cabin should be. His heart raced, the anticipation of holding his Sarah overwhelming as he moved, each step more agonizing than the prior. The battle had been hard fought but ultimately a defeat, sending the survivors scattering for home or worse. His mind’s eye pictured the reunion with his beautiful bride, her full breasts crushed to his chest, her arms pulling him close, their lips desperately seeking each other, and then he saw it — a flash of blue from his right, moving quickly. He parried to his left pulling the flag down toward the assailant to act as a weapon and shield but it was too late. He felt the tip of the blade enter his ribs, burning and sharp. Blood trickled from his lip as he fell, his face pressed against the cold earth and in the distance he could hear his Sarah calling…
“Seymour, Mr. Wood,” a pause, “Mr. Wood, are you with us? Will someone nudge Seymour so he can join the discussion?” the instructor said.
Seymour quickly jumped to life following the jab in the ribs from a well-aimed pencil. His sun bleached, course hair matted a little closer to the left side of his head where he’d had it pressed against the desktop. The corner of his mouth was moist but thankfully no saliva was running down his chin. Laughter filled the room as the battle weary soldier realized what had happened.
“Mr. Wood, are you with us now?”
“Oh yeah, Mrs. Wild, I’m really sorry,” somewhat slurring his words, as he tried to regain his consciousness.
“Okay good, let‘s move along. Who can tell me what it was about Ted Bundy that made him so successful as a serial killer? Anyone have an idea?” she said moving back to the whiteboard, marker in hand.
Seymour Wood, 24, although awake, still didn’t have his mind in the game. The long hours helping his mom run their small farm, days taking summer courses and the occasional night at the library were taking their toll. He had to admit the little power nap he’d just had did make him feel better and as he tried to insert himself into the discussion he could feel his second wind kicking in. He really was enjoying the classes he’d selected for the condensed summer schedule. Only two years into his major, he was a few years older than most of the other students, but the years following his dad’s death had been spent just trying to make ends meet and keeping the family farm from bankruptcy. Things were a bit better now. His mother had found a hired hand that was reliable and able to lighten the load, which freed up the time Seymour needed to begin his education. Criminology had always been of particular interest to Seymour. Old Dragnet and Hawaii Five-0 reruns, CSI, and others had filled his young mind with images of busting down doors, high-speed chases and the 'collar'.
Ultimately he wanted to work with the FBI, CIA or GBI, but was happy just to have the part time job with the local library for now. Great job for a student, quiet, not much to do once the books were shelved and the tables and chairs straightened. He even managed to get a few hours every shift to work on his studies. Looking at his watch he mentally calculated how many hours he had before work and what he had to get done before then.
The balance of the class period lapsed without any further incidents. Seymour stood and stretched his frame, bending right then left and a couple toe touches for good measure just to get the kinks out. He stood six feet tall, was not overly muscular but toned, with sleek, well-defined muscles; his dad said he was ‘wiry’. Hours on the basketball and racquetball courts not to mention the unending hours on the farm slinging bales and pulling weeds helped to keep his physique in top form. This had not gone unnoticed by the young co-eds that blushed and giggled when they saw him coming down the hall. Girls had been a bit of an enigma for Seymour, sure he’d had a few girlfriends over the years but the commitment level required in most cases was more than he could give, so he, for the most part, just tried to ignore them.
He’d been raised with Southern gentleman values, respected women, tried to see them as an equal partner in all respects, academically, intellectually, and so on. This was not to say that he did not find the feminine form appealing, on the contrary, he had days when he could think of nothing else, however, he did find it odd that he often found himself thinking and daydreaming more about the instructors and administrative women rather than the young, nubile bimbets bouncing about campus. In either case, he generally kept his distance in an effort to focus on his studies, after all tuition was expensive and his funds were limited.
Seymour was a likable character and had plenty of friends of both sexes; he was quick on his feet with always something witty or insightful to say and didn’t mind poking fun, even if the finger was pointed directly at him. He knew when to have fun and when it was time to buckle down and get things done. The teachers had grown fond of Seymour in his short time at Valdosta University. The ladies often talked of his charming style and the tilted grin that sported a small dimple in his left cheek. Certainly he would be a catch for any of the young women on campus but they respected his choice to put school first, especially considering the challenges he’d overcome to get there.