Lights Out

There is a belief held among the educated that all students of a higher level should be in bed by midnight. In order to insure their wishes are met, they send a short, creepy fellow to peek his head in the door of all poor learners. He peers in with eyes that prove to be unkind to privacy or to those who prove to be sleeping. All this to make certain that we are either studying or fast asleep, at least that is the lie they want you to believe.

Instead, they are going about due to their own fears. Fears of what we brilliant minds are up to. It is a true saying that lightning never strikes twice in the same place. However, that statement has no relevance here. They go crawling about with bellies lower than those of snakes. Cracking open the doors of our humble resting places, they peer in "to check on us" and "to make certain all is well." At least that is what they want you to believe.

We students know their suspicions, and they are all true. We do have plans. So dark, so dreary, so unimaginably terrifying that to whisper them would be almost sinful. We think not on sleep, but on revolution, reformation, and freedom. Freedom from the chains of adolescence that we so wrongfully thought were gone away.

This freedom will cost. This freedom is not at all free, which is puzzling, since the word "freedom" implies no cost. However, there is a cost. The blood of many will be spilt, or at lest sweat will be shed. It is also true that you cannot turn a donkey into a racehorse, but once again that has no significance here, although it is both wise and true.

Even as I write these words the Creeper is walking the hallways. He splunks his way down the dark corridors of this our residence, looking for blood. He searches for souls. Not just because it is his duty but also his passion. But tonight there will be a change.

I write this as I may be facing my last night of life. I will look into death's face tonight, and I will laugh. Not just a mere chuckle but a deep full forced laugh of enjoyment. I will stand. I will take this venomous Dragon down with a swift kick and swing of my hefty battle instrument of doom. At least this is the plan.

There is no telling what the Creeper will do, nor what he is thinking. All that can be known is his thirst for perdition. I stand. I wait. I feel my heart beat, until one of us strikes!

Godfrey Thatcher