Photo Credits: MICHAEL LEAHY / AGGIE
She didn’t C. (S. Lewis) it coming
“Where… Where am I?” Wanda Her asked, looking at the forest surrounding her. An equine figure trotted menacingly towards Her from the shadows.
“You’re in Narnia,” Gunrock said, emerging from his blanket of darkness and leaning against a lamppost.
“How can that be?” Her asked. “Just a second ago, I was looking for my philosophy professor’s office hours in the–”
“–Death Star,” Gunrock interjected. Her nodded, in awe.
“There’s a lot of lore you hear about that place — that the architect made a horribly designed building so strangers would ask each other for directions,” Gunrock continued. “Or that hormonal freshman make out on the fifth floor. Or that the building was designed by MC Escher. But you never hear the truth: that hidden among this concrete jungle of despair and discarded sporks is a portal to Narnia.”
At that moment, Her noticed hundreds of young adults wearing backpacks, milling about in the distance, looking high and low with maps in their hands. “Who are they?” she asked the prince of ponies.
“Oh, them? They’re social sciences and humanities students who, much like yourself, took a wrong turn on the way to demanding points back on their assignment.” Just then, a woman bedecked in scrunchies and denim sauntered up to the pair.
“Hey, I’m totally lookin’ for my econ professor’s room. You seen it?” she asked. Gunrock and Her shook their heads. “He said I’m gonna flunk this class. Ugh, as if! Anyway, whaddya think of this dude, Clinton? I’m totally stoked for this prez. It’s lookin’ like it’s gonna be a scandal-free presidency, which I am totally down for in this, the year 1995. Anyway, smell ya later!”
Her turned back towards Gunrock. “How can I get back to my own world so I’m not trapped like ‘Miss Clueless’ over here?”
“Easy,” Gunrock replied. “You just have to give up and tell yourself you’ll go to office hours next week.” He winked, then said, “But we all know that ain’t happening.”
As Her grabbed her backpack from the forest floor and prepared to throw in the towel, Gunrock gave her some last advice. “Stay out of the Death Star. IT’S A TRAP.”
Written by: Madeline Kumagai — email@example.com
(This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)