The following story is based on true happenings, the characters names have been changed to protect the innocent. (I used the names of the authors of my physics book)

The night was creeping by, and as usual, we were stuck in our cozy little dorm room. Stewart, Cole, Brooks and me, Thomson; were racking our brains for something to do. The dull light from my desk lamp cascaded its eminent glory over the walls, creating a warm vanilla sensation. The muffled sounds of Halo 2 and ‘how drunk I got last night’ stories were flowing in through the cracked door from the hallway. As Cole busied himself rearranging my iTunes play list, Stewart and Cole plucked on a guitar and I sat, fondling an arubix cube.

At that moment, Stew came up with the idea to find the place on campus where the faculty hides their bodies and “secret stuff.” This suggestion was following by a clamoring of thoughts where it could be located. Soon, these thoughts were drowned out by a hooded negro man in my closet, who appeared for a moment in time, subtlety said “Level I(eye).” And vanished.

With that, we suited up in our darkest clothing, strapped our gats, painted our masks, tied our boots, shaved our beavers, scratched our butts, and headed out for: Level I.

Level I is a mysterious place under the auditorium in the huge ass building in the center of campus. It would make sense that is where they dispose of the “problems” there. We had to use stealth mode across campus to get there undetected. Sadly, we were spotted by every negro on the way. We got our asses capped…..


WITH PLATINUM!!! BALLA!!!!!!


Anyway, we make it to the Huge Ass Building in the middle of campus, alive. And proceed to enter through the service door and ascend the stairs to the second floor, to mislead any followers.

The service stairs are noisy, cold, and hard. The echo’s from out silent footsteps go “pitter patter, pitter patter” in the night. The second floor is academic, with cloth cubical walls defining the different rooms, and freshly polished white tiled floors, gleaming with an orange peeled reflection of the florescent lights, humming away peacefully. We walk intensely, concentrated, heartfelt, and passionately. We reach the elevator, and call it up with our school cards. It comes up, but the indicator lights tell us it was on Level I when we called it.

Quickly now, we sprung into action, ready to take down whatever came out of those pink, iron-clad doors. Doors open. Nothing. Coast clear. We step in, and press the I button. 3 minutes go by as we accelerate ever downwards. Sweat from our brows is making the elevator start to flood. Its up to our ankles with the elevator finally comes to a rusty and noisy hault. Ask if a tectonic plate shifted at the exact moment we arrived at level I. We stance ourselves, ready to charge out and start whoopin ass. Little did we know, the elevator had doors on both sides. And we were looking at the wrong one. Behind us, opened the gates to hell themselves, accompanied by dead silence – interrupted with intervals where blood dripped from a distance faucet. I step out, followed by my companions. The floors down here are crumbled and dull. The lights are classic gym lights, sitting still in the dead, musty air. Air debris hung in the air and danced in the beams of light, cast through cracks and holes.

We explore. The first room was an industrial kitchen, water stains cascaded from the faucets on the steel walls of the basins. Pots and pants lay stacked and scattered. Hooks hung vacantly from the ceilings. The lights in this room were not on.

The next room was huge. Like a convention hall. It had pillars with chains wrapped around them. The skeletons of what were once humans hung from these chains. We decided we best get out of this situation and report it to our RA.

Just as we were leaving, we heard the hustle and bustle of a figure walking in our direction around the corner. A door slammed open within the bowls of the facility. We hauled ass toward the exit sign. As we reached the doors, a door swung open across the hall, and there, in the door way, stood the negro from my closet. He had one white eye, with no pupil. In his left hand a large leather body bag, occupied. In his right hand, and crowbar, with flesh dangling off the hook. Swiftly up the stairs we ran, our fear fueling our momentum. Out the doors we crashed, daylight. Thanks. Across campus we ran, the night biting at our tails. And into bed we cried. And cuddled for the night.


Fin.