Drama and intrigue on campus

Three days ago, I didn’t expect my life to change dramatically. I didn’t expect a life of political intrigue. I didn’t expect that a man would die by my hands.

A few days ago, I woke up thinking it would be a typical day. I quickly showered and rushed to class. The trip to class that morning was when I first got the feeling that I was being followed. Quick glances over my shoulder revealed nothing, and I went through my daily routine of choking down the ARA for lunch and trying not to be late for my classes.

I found it odd that my feeling of being followed was accompanied by a new student being in all my classes. He wasn’t your typical new student either. He wore a suit, carried no books or laptop, wore dark sunglasses, and casually looked around whenever I looked his direction. On the way to my next class, I decided I’d lose him. Thinking about some action movies I’ve seen, I ducked behind the next corner I turned and pressed my back against the wall. That was rather uncomfortable since my backpack sticks out 6-8 inches, but it would have to do. As soon as my tracker stepped around the corner I chopped him in the back of the neck. He turned to me and said, “You chopped me in the back of the neck!” So I recalled some children’s movies I’ve seen and kicked him in the groin. I escaped to my next class as he doubled over in pain.

I may not have dozed off, but I spent my waking efforts watching the door instead of taking notes. I still don’t know what’s going on in that class and now I think my prof suspects I take pills for paranoia that make me drowsy.

Without the mysterious suited fellow, I figured it would be safe to walk back to my dorm room. As I entered the stairwell that led up to my floor, I came face to face with the man who had been following me. He was dead. His hands were clasped to his stomach, as if to hold back his insides. Fearing that my roommates might be in danger, I rushed back to my dorm room.

There I found my suitemate, lying dead at his desk. He too had been shot. His room had been rummaged through and his computer’s hard drive was wiped. He knew something, and they were going to use me to get to him. But what? I searched his room for clues as well.

What plot was he involved with? What secret society was he a member of? Who entered my room and violated the open-door trust at Rose? There were many questions running through my head. Questions I’d pondered before. I immediately saw the parallels between my life and that of Hollywood super spies.

So I brushed my teeth, put on a nicer shirt, used a conservative amount of Axe and waited for a beautiful and distressed woman to arrive and detail my circumstances shortly before falling in love with me.

The next person to enter my room was my roommate. “Don’t worry!” he said. “I found the documents, contacted the U.S. government, discovered the mole, killed the 18 KJB agents, punched a Nazi and saved the world from nuclear holocaust. I would have called you, but when I came in our suitemate was dead. Oh, and this is Inuenne Doe - she was a big help!” A beautiful woman walked in behind him and clung to his arm.

I went to bed that night without having killed a man. I didn’t get to experience any political intrigue. And even though my roommate has a direct line to the CIA incase they need his services again, my life hasn’t really changed enough to call anything dramatic.