[color=silver][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/dVLlBBF.png[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/F4qz4Ae.png[/img] [/center][indent][indent][indent][hr] Seeing the fireworks jump to the sky and greet the clouds in loud splendor left a bittersweet taste in Jackson Drake’s mouth. Again, he had been forced to attend Camp Ridgewood, separated from just about every potential for fun that he could be having in town. Right now, he would be on main street, enjoying a classic Ridge-Dog, a cheese-stuffed sausage on a brioche sandwich roll with grilled peppers, onions caramelized until they resemble jam, and topped with a special sauce that consisted of Japanese mayo and a slight drizzle of balsamic vinegar. Just that little hint of the tart, bitter, sour, sweet balsamic makes the whole thing come together. And of course, he would be hanging with his boys - his crew that he did everything with. Jackson was missing it because, of course, Felix Lopez, one of the more reputable teachers at the middle school he recently graduated from, had felt the need to put his name down. Jackson was getting older. Lopez knew this and he wanted Jackson to experience the camp life as much as he could. And it wasn’t like Jackson hated being at camp. It wasn’t far from town, so if he really wanted to go home, as much as he knew Felix would hate it, Jackson could just ride the trail down the mountain. It would be so easy to just head back home. But Jackson hated easy. Easy was the coward’s way out. Easy was wearing floaties when you were learning how to swim. Easy was using Youtube when you struggled with a trick. Jackson hated taking the easy way out. If he didn’t persevere, then how would he know what his limits were? Well, okay, he doesn’t know his limits for [i]everything[/i]. He doesn’t know how many RidgeDogs he can eat in one sitting nor does he know how long he can go breathing underwater without wimping out. What Jackson [i]does[/i] is this: as tempting as it was, he wouldn’t go down the trail. Instead, he would sit at the edge of the cliff, phone in hand as his board was in his lap. He kept his eyes on the display of fireworks that continued. And that was when he heard his phone buzz in his hand and that immediately caught his attention for a few reasons. Maybe, the most jarring was how, recently, cell service had been in a fritz today. No matter how hard Jackson tried, he couldn’t contact anyone that wasn’t outside the camp. For some reason, one of those who were in his contacts that were on campgrounds currently could be reached. So, why of all times, was he getting an alert saying he got a fucking E-Mail? Opening the email, he read it and it made no sense. Jackson read the wordy email and it made no sense. Someone named Jericho Watson, who went on to talk about something that he clearly didn’t know anything about. Did Jackson claim to see two giant ass monsters fight about six years ago? Yeah maybe. And did anyone believe him? Well, the local conspiracy theorist had a few ideas, but by the time Jackson’s parents had him go through the motions of seeing kid-friendly therapists, they deduced that it was just his wild imagination. He [i]was[/i] eight, after all. Who the hell would believe the wild and active imagination of an eight-year-old kid? Laughing, Jackson just closed the email and deleted it. [color=crimson]“Whatever man!”[/color] Remnants of his laugh carried into a sigh and Jackson looked at the sky. [color=crimson]“Yeah...It was made up.”[/color] As he spoke, he blinked once and swore he saw something spark above the fireworks, the faintest sight of something...different than what he should be seeing. Like something flying that looked too...green to be anything in the sky. [color=crimson]“Oh, great you’re seeing things again.” [/color] And when Jackson shook its head, it was gone. Gone, but what did that mean? Nothing. Because that’s what it was. You were seeing nothing but your hunger getting the better of you. Maybe...Maybe Jackson needed to get some food. Yeah, that was a good idea. And that’s what Jackson did. He got up and went to the mess hall, hoping an evening snack may just help him not pretend like he saw what he did six years ago.[/indent][/indent][/indent][/color]