The Eighth Page


Inaudible grunts and screams pierce my innocent little ears. I collapse to the cold, hard ground, my hands clasped over my head. I wail in pain. I call for help. No one comes. I die. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I was 3 years old at the time, but I can still hear it so clearly. It was saying something to me. To be precise it was saying, “Rawrr.” But to this day, the call of the wild still rings. It rings constantly, loud and obnoxious, like John Badman ’06 Then, it happened again last November. It was really quite frightening. I dreaded that the day would come for exactly 34 years. I denied it, and tried to run away, but this annoying voice inside my head made sure I never forgot. But this time, this time, I, Lawrence Dai, was ready. Once again, the beast of the north was trying to signal me. And this time, I would respond. This beast is by no other means, your average run-of-the-mill wild animal. It thrives in the stack levels of the library, keeping itself alive by eating the helpless little children that wander into the blue depths of hell. No one knows what kind of animal it is or if it is even an animal. For all we know it could possibly be a man in a beast suit. Or maybe even a beast in a man suit. That’s just as probable. But there is definitely something lurking in the shadows of the stack. I remember when Steven Lee-Kramer ’09 came out once with half of his tail missing. I don’t know about you guys, but I sure wouldn’t want to lose half of my tail. Oh well. It sucks to be him. It was now time to begin my long arduous journey to the ever oh-so-intimidating OWHL. I push open the door leading out of Rockwell when I hear a shout. “Lawrence, NOOOOO!!! I can’t lose you again!!!” I turn around to see a familiar face. It’s none other than Will Cannon ’07. I gave him a powerful, masculine stare and say, “Willy, this is something I have to do. There’s no other choice. Promise me something Willy, promise me something. Give me your word that you will quit sniffing glue.” “But Lawrence, I…I…can’t…I need…” “Hush my child. The only thing you need is a bath.” And as I walked on through the door without looking back, a single tear fell from little Willy’s eyes. But sure enough, today I can vouch for a young William Cannon. He has never touched another bottle of glue ever since. At least not Elmer’s. (Editor’s Note: Lawrence, we’ll talk sometime later) I had hired a sherpa to guide me on this rough journey. He introduced himself as Lhakpa Smith and had a thick bushy handlebar mustache. However, it was nowhere near as thick or bushy as mine, so logically I was the manlier man. That comment wasn’t even necessary because I’m so secure of my masculinity. But anyways, after exchanging information of our personal facial hair comb preferences, we were on our way. The trip was long and cold and long. It seems like a blur to me now. A blur full of jolly ranchers, Curious George, and cockfights. But it’s over now and that’s what really matters. I was at the library and I wandered into the stacks, not knowing what I had gotten myself into. I started off in level 1. Then I worked myself up to level 1.5 and then level 2, and even level 2.5. Then I realized that I wasn’t on one of the whole number floors. And that fact blew my mind. Facts are my friends. That was a good thing because I needed all the friends I could get in that lonely, lonely isle of unhappiness. Then I felt it. I sensed the breath of the monster on the back of my neck. I turned around sharply to find nothing. Drat it. I was so close. But I found out that I was too close. This weird feeling overcame my body that told me that my shoelaces were missing. I know it sounds weird, but if your shoelaces were missing you would know it too. Sure enough I looked down and no shoelaces. I knew I should have gone Velcro that day. But it was too late for that. Then it hit me. Literally. A flying squirrel. The beast was a lame poo-poo flying loser squirrel. But trust me, it was no ordinary flying squirrel. You know how they say that those squirrels glide. Bull plop. Grade “A” bull plop. I closed my eyes and nun-chucked like I’ve never nun-chucked before. And the squirrel fell. I had vanquished the beast. I harvested the squirrels pelt and ate its meat for months. Mmmmmmm… nun-chucks.