vi·sion | \ ˈvi-zhən \
Definition Of Vision
1 : the act or power of seeing : SIGHT
He had never been more uncomfortable in his life. The past six months had been hell. Since coming out as gay to his family and then explaining that he wanted to be an artist, everything had spiraled downhill. He still wasn't sure he would ever be used to the awfully low cut on his hair. He missed the options he had with long hair.
John was sure that on this bus taking him to the 'elite military academy', as his father had called it, he would get sick. It was disgustingly dirty and stuffy. I mean, South Carolina Summers we're usually bad enough, but put him in a bus with no AC and no way to open the windows and he might just get sick from heat stroke.
He couldn't believe his luck and how poor it was, though. Absolutely awful. Not only that, but he hadn't had time to upload a blog update saying where he was going before his dad shoved him from the door just hours ago.
John's blog consisted of a lot of controversial rants about the military and politics and schools, but sometimes he uploaded softer topics. But now it would seem like he was dead. He was going unplugged.
The bus came to a rattling stop and the doors squealed open. John grabbed his bag he was allowed and marched off the bus, waving a quick, half-hearted thanks to the driver.
Immediately, camp seemed chaotic. People running drills, yelling, sounds of gunshots, whistles, boots clattering against wood or rock or dirt in various places. As John stared around, he hardly noticed the man walking in front of him until he was almost running into him.
"Hey! Watch where you step! You might just step on my boots!" A redheaded man scolded and John flushed with color.
Mistake number one. Note one: Always watch your footing.
"I'm so sorry! I didn't realize—" He began to apologise, but was quickly cut off.
"Colonel Hamilton! Don't scold the new private yet! He hasn't even begun basic training!"
The source of the booming baritone voice was a man who had to be six foot and four inches. He was tall, stiff, burly... Women would faint over this man, John was certain. Maybe he would too if he wasn't careful... The intimidating figure with gray hair shaved like the others into a buzz cut was stepping nearer.
His name... The nametag displayed G. WASHINGTON, and his number of badges suggested a high rank. Was this the General John heard so much about?
A man roughly five foot and five inches stepped around the tall man and stood in front of John. "Identification, please? Passport, papers, drivers license... You should've researched enough to know what I need now." T. TILGHMAN. Sandy blond hair, a few inches shorter than John, but still taller than the man he nearly ran over.
Speaking of which... "You're Private John Laurens? Son of Henry Laurens, the senator of South Carolina?" The redhead asked. His hair was curly and formed little baby curls atop his head. It was adorable and charming and John wanted to stare at him all day.
Freckles, indigo-violet eyes, short red hair, and he should really stop wondering how much skin his freckles covered and he should pull his eyes back up. He was met with a glare.
"Yes, sir. I'm so sorry, I just was confused and—"
"Yes, yes, quit blathering. Colonel Tilghman will get your information set up and you can come with me. Your clothes right now aren't going to cut it."
"I take it wearing a blue flannel and jeans isn't welcome here?"
"Cut the humor, Laurens."