The Eighth Page

Mighty Storm Plunges School Into Despair

In a stunning display of the inescapable tragedy of life, the poetically sad Snowstorm Juno swept through the school, crushing the hearts and minds of Andover citizens. As the Grand Sky sobbed and wept crystals towards the Earth, the campus pondered collectively about the circular pointlessness of existence. Through the high noon of the storm, the cocoa, sleds and boots served only to remind the school of the weak and materialistic joy that spread thinly among the overwhelming loneliness of the cosmos. One student said, “Honestly, observing the sun’s descent into a dark cold night destroyed any hope I had of a blissful day in the frost-covered fields. The frozen, rusted wheels of time shattered my dreams of shimmering winter vistas with the sorrow and gloom of the setting sun. We are, but sands on the beach, temporary bodies made of eons-old matter, and soon the tracks of our life are erased by Mistress Gaia, Mother Nature, Fate Herself. What is left to us but wallowing in the cold?” Indeed, the relentless tempest beat down upon the barren, lifeless corpse of Andover, buried in the alabaster ice with only the howls of wind for a eulogy. A prominent school official in an informational electronic letter wrote, “We are merely ants on a rock, powerless as it hurtles through space – spiraling away from Order into Chaos. Like the snowflakes crashing into the ground, we have no control over our direction, our location, our purpose. Think: every goal, every aspiration, every achievement you hold is petty and irrelevant. All you see is governed by laws which do not care for you or everything you perceive as truth and lies, dark and light, right and wrong. Please do not build snow caves.”