Chapter 2

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The smell of urine, vomit and poo brought me back to the cold hard realities of life. In my dream I had met a farmer who had fed me mysterious things and everything afterwards went black. Now I stood and a cell surrounded me. I was alone ? no one shared my cell and everyone else in their own cell tried to look at me with feigned disinterest. I looked at their clothes and looked at mine, and cursed the universe for my choice of Calgary Flames apparel ? even if they are the greatest hockey team in the known universe. It's made me nothing but a target since I did this whole time travel thing. Everyone stared at me.  

I did my best to fidget or feel stupid. I almost want to say something, but choose to remain silent. I didn't want to try and have another conversation with a french speaking soldier with an antiquated gun or say something ridicules like that I'm in china. Nosiree. I was going to be brilliant. Silence, my mother told me, was the beginning of wisdom. 

My mother was the smartest woman in the universe. 

My gawkers grew bored of my fidgeting and concentrated on the other guy in the cell across from me. He too was quiet, but there was something about his eyes that just called to you. His beard was a little unkempt, but he seemed otherwise normal...ish. Something drew you to him. 

'Who is that guy?' I said aloud and cursed myself. Oh crap. 

"He speaks English!" One of the guards said, and I groaned. I recognized that ridicules red uniform anywhere. I was imprisoned by mounties. Great. Well, at least I knew I was in Canada.  

"He's also a moron!" Another guard replied. I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Of course I'd be an idiot. I was an idiot opening my mouth. 

"You really don't know who this guy is?"

"Nope," I said with absolute certainty. 

"Son, have you lived under a rock out here?" 

"I've been...kind of lost." Vague in general doesn't work well with excuses. Vague means that you did something but are not proud of it at all. Mom used to just give me that look that said I see right through you, and she was right. I decided to be elaborate with my stories then. Elaborate you see makes people roll their eyes at you, but not in the I hate you kind of way. No, they know you are full of poo, but it's at least entertaining poo. Vague just doesn't work. The glaring eyes of suspicion my Mountie friends disdained at me indicated that I should make up very plausible lies. 

"Where is this Cal-gary?" The man in the cell seemed to be probing me, but not with evil glares of guilt and disdain, but rather curiosity. Unlike the others trying not think about how tacky my attire was, he looked at me without a trace of mockery. I kind of wondered if he looked that way about everything. Was he crazy or something? 

Still, I had to come up with something that seemed half plausible. He wasn't the only one paying attention. What seemed like the best answer here? 

I thought about coming up with something that was complete flub, and then realized something. If I had gone through time once, chances were I was going to do it again. Did it really matter then what I said about when and where I came from? It wasn't like they could keep me here. 

So I told them the truth. g\"Calgary is a place in the far future. We have the greatest hockey team in the world." Everything I just said there is all true, even if the guards, other prisoners were laughing their butts off. 

The man in the cell just looked at me without a change of expression. It was downright eerie. "The future you say?" He shrugged. "Anything is possible." The man seemed to relax and stare off into the distance. I was a little staggered. I expected the laughter and the jeers, not complete apathy to my outlandish tale. I mean, I should be happy. He didn't care a whit about me one way or the other. But dang it, you should be stunned when someone says something like that. What made you so dead to the world that you didn't even chuckle at something like that? 

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