My Irises are almost ready to pop.
It's time for another installment of my continuing rough draft writing exercise:
The training academy was located in an old minimum security prison in Angels Camp. There were way more guys than girls, and the extra attention made her uncomfortable. Especially, when she had to walk past a line of men on the way to the cafeteria and try not to hear all the things they said to her. She had often wished she was invisible. She didn't want to look like anything, didn't always want to have to participate, and like Chance in Being There, she liked to watch.
The training academy forced her to be very present. She had spent the last month mostly by herself. It was only a week ago that she was stuck in a motel room, faced with all of her demons and no way to escape. She remembered one particularly bad night where in just a few moments she went from entertaining thoughts of suicide, to freaking out that she might have cancer. Here, in the middle of the day, she could laugh to herself at the ridiculousness of fearing and hoping for the same thing.
And so all of these people and rules and schedules, finally making her so aware of her external world, probably weren't such a bad thing. She just wished she had some kind of cloaking device to get her to the cafeteria for every meal.