Academentia by Robert Reginald

Author:Robert Reginald
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: religion, god, sci-fi, science fiction, future, dystopia
Publisher: Wildside Press
Published: 2011-04-13T16:00:00+00:00

FYTTE THE SEVENTH

This bluebottle paint

Now clothes this wretched crate,

And I spend my days butting my pate

Against screen doors and glass panes,

Numbing, dumbing what few brains

I have left, looking for Dr. K.

And Mr. B., to have one final say,

One last bite, if I may,

At the administrative neck,

And all the garbage, all the dreck,

That I cheerfully ate along the way.

Which is why, I cry,

God made me fly,

Dead Fly.

Wednesday, December 15th

The next morning, I found a bouquet of flowers standing on the center of my desk, placed there by my lovely and thoughtful advocator. There were fresh lilies and carnations and some other growths that I failed to recognize. I kissed Grace a good one on her lips when I saw her, smudging her paint, and she responded with even more energy of her own. Blessèd be!

Then we set about moving into my new suite of offices, those which had formerly belonged to Provost Bork. I made certain that Dr. B.’s personal effects were carefully gathered together and dispatched to his incipient widow. The other details I left to Grace.

At the bottom of the second drawer on the right in Bork’s desk, I found a small, yellowed piece of paper taped to the back edge. I carefully retrieved it. It sounded vaguely familiar:

Great fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite ’em,

And little fleas have lesser fleas, and so ad infinitum.

What did it mean? Why was it there?

I took that question with me that very afternoon on my final visit to Harminius Bork, late Provost of California Saints University, now temporarily resident in a cell in the Schicklgruber Building on the opposite side of campus.

I walked the quarter mile alone, neither desiring any company nor seeking idle conversation. I was thinking about what yet needed to be done to transform our modest University into a modern, growing educational establishment of the first rank. The initial step was obvious, but what came afterwards?

The Schicklgruber Building was round, squat, and windowless, clothed in the gray concrete of state structures, and utterly without a charm of any kind. A single large chimney poked its ugly head up through the center of the complex, sticking some thirty feet above the roof. The height was necessary to keep the smell away from campus.

I first sought out my old friend Wickhizer.

“What do you want?” he growled.

He was shackled to one wall of his cell, unable to move his arms enough even to scratch his nose.

“I just thought I’d share some information with you before you pass into that darkest of dark nights,” I said.

“Why bother?” he retorted.

“Because,” I responded, “because I only did to you what you would have done to me, within a day or two. If you’re looking for a rescue, my friend, you should understand that your cohorts have either been reassigned or redistributed, piece by piece, and thus are no longer in a position to aid your potential comeback. This really is your final final appearance on the political stage. You’re about to exit, stage left.

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