University Gothic

Shalmalee Palekar

you take a campus tour on your first day. they tell you it would take an hour. they told you that years ago. you are still swimming.

six old professors attend your lecture every day. you don’t know where they come from. you ask someone in passing. his eyes widen in terror. the next day, the professors are gone. you never see them again.

your wetsuit gets taken by a student. when she returns it, there are feathers sprouting all over. they keep multiplying. the swans are on the march! she shrieks.

there is a giant 3-tiered cake with your name in the Uniclub. you run to get friends to help eat it. when you return, the cake is swarming with rats. screaming, you turn to run. your friends are swarming with rats.

there is always someone in the Teaching Fellow’s room. no-one ever comes out. you always try to peer in. the bars are always locked.

you stay overnight in the Vice-Chancellery. the lights flicker rapidly. there is the distant sound of howling. something large brushes past you, blowing hot, fetid breath on your face.

the Dean is marrying all the academics. they go to the Bell Tower once she marries them. festoons of bloated bodies gently swaying in the wind. your turn is coming.

a PhD student is decomposing face down on your office floor. you sleep on the office chair. when you awaken, the PhD student is quietly patting a peacock to sleep. you go back to sleep.

the Arts building is empty. there are two new researchers. he never sleeps. she is always watching. you ask their names. she flies at you, fangs bared. you don’t ask again.

your tutor eats nothing but cake. he mewls hoarsely. he scuttles around on all fours, shedding fine hair and tears.

your colleague vanishes for 6 months. nobody tells you why. one day you see a giant rack in room G.15. he’s stretched on it. has he been there all along? nobody tells you anything.

there is a bloodied wall where the Arts office was. you ask where the Arts office has moved to. they look at you in puzzlement. they’ve never heard of an Arts office.

the Bell Tower tolls as the Arts building starts to shudder and crack. you look up to see yourself plunging to your death. tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, your Head of Department chants. tomorrow is another day.