“I Don’t Think That Was A Tic-Tac” Commentary by Student Tripping Balls in Stacks

Oh man, I am screwed. I have a fifteen page paper due tomorrow for Russian Literature, and I just saw a book get up off the shelf and walk away. Looking back, I think I can trace the source of this crazy hallucinogenic trip that’s going to prevent me from stringing together two coherent sentences about the superfluous hero archetype portrayed in many classic Russian novels to that “tic-tac” I took from some kid in the elevator on my way up to the stacks.

We just happened to be going up at the same time, and got to talking about what work we had to do. I mentioned the big paper, and he said it sounded like I could use some help. He said my breath stank, but by his overly dramatized air quotes and bouncing eyebrows, I figured he was at least giving me Adderall or something! I trusted him, dammit! Who would’ve thought that someone giving away drugs to students would turn out to be untrustworthy? And now every time I open my book to find a quote for my essay, all I can see is the fabric of the entire stupid universe.

I was all right for the first half hour. Sure, I felt a little giddy, maybe even a little high, but I wasn’t worried. It was nothing overpowering. Fast forward another hour, though, and here I am in a fortress I made of books from the oversized section, repeating a magical chant to prevent the government from reading my thoughts.

But it didn’t stop there. A massive gust of wind blew the roof off my fort, and I saw a unicorn standing before me! It was majestic and pure, and I was stepping up to pat its velvety snout when Swoop flew through a window and sank his talons into the noble beast. I tried to stop the violence, but Swoop beat me back with a battering from his huge wings. Once the unicorn had been finished off, rainbow blood spilling down the aisles between bookshelves, Swoop retreated into the shadows. He turned a corner around another shelf, and was gone.

And that brings us to now. I’ve fashioned a makeshift bow out of a rubber band and some freshly sharpened pencils, and I’m stalking Swoop through the upper floors of the Woodruff Library. I thought I had him once, but that turned out to be a student whom I’ve since advised to seek medical treatment for a yellow Ticonderoga number two pencil protruding from his thorax. But make no mistake: I will find my quarry, and I will exact my retribution for the slaughtered unicorn.