A Scary Story

Greg Ritchey

WARNING: The following is based on a true story. Reader discretion is advised.

It was just like any other Sunday night for me, beer in hand watching “Gilmore Girls” on Netflix. Yeah that’s right, “Gilmore Girls” is on Netflix now. You’re welcome.

I stared out my foggy window to see that it had started storming. Taken aback, I quickly alerted the campus with a Yik Yak post. It only took three minutes before it was deleted. What was happening?

I paced the eight-foot span of my room with an eerie feeling brewing inside. Just when the clock struck midnight, like some sort of Cinderella voodoo, I received a text from my physics lab partner. He was unsure how to do a part of the lab report. Lab report? What lab report? I dove for my syllabus to check the due dates. My heart was pounding as I smoothed out the crumpled paper that I found shoved in my biology book.

Suddenly, the power went out. A flash of lightning illuminated the page as I saw the due date. My god. I spilled my beer, ruining my MCAT book. There goes med school. My life is over.

No. Would Rory give up? Heck no. I can do this. My computer had a full charge, just enough to finish the report. I got a Venti Pumpkin Spice Latte and spent all night constructing a totally average paper. I made it to Rockefeller with two minutes to spare. I must have looked like the mutant offspring of Amanda Bynes and an ostrich.

As I released the paper into the collection box, I received a text from my partner reading “Finished my report a week early. Yay! :D.”

Oh no. I must have misread the due date! Head hanging low, I walked out of Rockefeller while trying to reply to a Snapchat from the night before. I got a nice selfie with the caption “lol kill me” right as the swinging doors deleted me from existence.


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