Katie Meeker, Contributing Writer

I wake up to another day in the beautiful city of Richmond, Virginia. I yawn, get up and brush my teeth. As I get dressed for the day, I check the weather on my phone — oh, good, it looks like it’s another day of miserably cold temperatures followed by miserably hot temperatures. At least it’s not raining. 

It’s already 9 a.m. — I’d better get going soon, I want to do some studying in Cabell library before my final this afternoon. All dressed, I take a step out of my apartment and am immediately attacked by a gust of pollen. My eyes burning and throat raw, I hack and rub the yellow dust out of my eyes as I cross the street, cursing. I jump back as I am nearly hit by a car running a red light. Typical Broad Street.

As I get closer to campus, dodging another near car crash on Franklin Street, I can hear the soothing, extremely disruptive tones of the self-proclaimed preacher that haunts the edges of the Compass. Taking a wide berth around him, wary of his spittle and comments on my looming eternal damnation, I finally reach the library. 

I scour the first floor for a table and — predictably — I find nothing. I move up a flight of stairs to the second floor and find nothing again. Same with the third floor. I reach the fourth floor and see a gloriously empty desk next to the window — the only one of its kind. I run and claim it, relieved to finally be able to start studying. 

In my excitement, I throw myself into the desk chair, only to jump up immediately with a barely-contained yell. I look down and, to my confusion and horror, I see a mysterious puddle of a foul and strange-smelling liquid dripping down my seat.

Disgraced and defeated, I slump out of the building and sit forlornly on the steps outside Cabell, staring dejectedly at the newspaper box next to the lawn. Studying is impossible — the preacher now has an opponent, and the two are screaming at each other so loudly I can hardly think. 

With nothing better to do, I go and grab a copy of the student paper from the box. “BOARD OF VISITORS PASS ACT THAT REQUIRES ALL VCU STUDENTS AND STAFF TO STOMP ON ANY STRAY KITTENS THEY COME ACROSS” is splayed across the front page in an aggressively red font. I’m not too surprised — just last week, the BOV voted to stop funding the upkeep of campus buildings that house the humanities. “Too expensive,” they said. Now, Pollock doesn’t have any water, and Founder’s Hall has already burned down. Stomping on stray kittens is certainly a step up, but it feels like a natural progression.

I flip to the next page. Rao is buying another historical building so he can turn it into office space, then the next page. Tuition is being raised by 100% next semester. Exciting.

That’s enough of the news. I shove the paper in my backpack and wander toward Park Plaza, trying to put distance between myself and the pastor-student screaming match. I stop suddenly when I see the red-blue flash of a police car parked next to the Singleton Center, a crowd gathered around it holding signs. Did something happen? Is everyone okay? Hope flutters in my chest for a moment. Are they here to finally take away the preacher-guy?

They’re not, of course. They’re just arresting protesters again. I watch as one student’s sign, which reads “PLEASE DON’T STOMP ON STRAY KITTENS,” falls to the ground as its wielder is tackled by an overenthusiastic cop in riot gear. 

Ah, classic VCU. I sigh and check my watch. Looks like it’s time to go to my final.

I turn away from the scene of police brutality before me — now, where have I heard that before? — and head back toward Hibbs Hall.

Suddenly, the ground trembles beneath my feet. There’s a horrific boom, louder even than the screams of the campus preacher. For a moment, all I can see is overwhelming darkness.

When I blink open my eyes again, dazed and confused, I find myself on the ground, choking as black smoke fills the air. I stumble to my feet, wiping ash off my face and numbly stare at the empty air where Hibbs Hall had been mere seconds ago. All that is left is a smoldering pile of ash, fires burning out in the rubble.

I stare at the debris, feeling empty. I guess a fuel line blew, or something. The BOV strikes again. I look back at the cops, still arresting students. I look toward the preacher, still screaming about the wrath of God. Does anyone even care? Does anything even matter anymore?

I walk back toward Hibbs, still burning. I look across the expanse of rubble and spot one of the extremely uncomfortable desks sitting completely unharmed in the fire. Figures.

I pick across the remains of Hibbs Hall and sit down in the chair, pulling out my laptop. I suppose there is nothing left to do but take my final. That’s all you can really do in situations like this, right? Right?

Despite the fire burning out around me, I’m still cold. I smile. Some things never change.

Editor’s Note: The characters and events depicted in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.