I’m sitting down in university, minding my own business. It’s the usual; freshmen getting excited about free pizza and taking selfies, sophomores overusing the “suffer more” pun, juniors complaining about the workload, and seniors getting defensive about their hangout spots, given to them by their seniority status. From time to time new faces briefly appear before us; probably students from Texas A&M or Northwestern whom, despite being oblivious to the fact they’re contributing to the choking over-crowdedness of CMUQ, simply keep coming for some reason -I don’t even know what they like so much about our cafeteria.- From time to time you hear a student complaining about how the clubs are spamming everyone with emails, full of indignation. I look left and right, and everyone of my friends is either busy or in class. I stare into the face of my computer and realise I’ve been opening and closing Google Chrome at a rate of five times per minutes, trying to decide what to do. What a peculiar life, that of a senior; one moment you’re more overworked than a cashier in a low-end clothing store on sales, the next one you’re sitting on your bum with no (immediate) work to do with a horse mask on your face.
A few hours in my sitting down doing nothing, and out of sheer boredom, I remember a video one of my friends introduced me to over 2-3 years ago; O Fortuna – Misheard Lyrics. The video plays the widely known (and very dramatic) song, which was originally a 13th century poem, and displays English lyrics that could be easily mistaken as the real ones for non-Latin speakers: for example, “O Fortuna” is interpreted as “Gopher Tuna”. The song starts playing and along with it does the video, and I’m laughing almost to the point of tears.
Suddenly, the drama of the song overtakes my imagination; what would be an appropriate scene this song would accompany?
*Soft, suspenseful beginning of O Fortuna*
The Imperial soldiers are advancing carefully through the swamps, their path barely visible in the middle of the night. The tension in the air is almost palpable, as every ranker clutches to his musket for comfort, desperate for any sense of security his weapon could provide. The moon is lazily brushing the tree tops with its soft glimmer, which deprive the isolated patrol party from what little light could be offered on that particularly sombre night. No one says anything as their tongues are tied of dread. They could be anywhere, lurking in the shadows, watching, awaiting the perfect opportunity to strike and sunder the once mighty 3rd Company to a cowering rabble of fleeing soldiers. The sergeant in charge of the small troop is leading the way, avoiding looking back in fear of meeting eyes with one of his privates and betraying his own paranoia.
*Song reaches its climax*
Without any prior warning, the quiet dusky atmosphere is shaken by a series of rattling bangs. The bushes immediately light up in unison, releasing dozens of musket shots, each one seeking an Imperial soldier as a final resting place. While rebels emerge from the thick shrubbery, screaming as a way to both intimidate the enemy and imbibe themselves with much needed courage, Imperials are collapsing on the wet ground, screaming and groaning as musket balls penetrate their flesh and occasionally break their bones with a discernible cracking sound. The guerilla forces charge at the tight ruck of Imperials, bayonets fixed at the end of their muskets and ready to impale the first foe their makeshift pike meets.
Suddenly, I snap out of my daydreaming, realising I was still slouching on my uncomfortable chair, with yet still hours of waiting ahead. The food court became emptier, and the prevailing background noise of dozens of students and faculty conversing died down. I was back to my boring old reality after about five minutes of imagining a historical battle scene.
Sometimes it’s so engulfing it feels like I’m producing my own TV shows/movies inside my head.
“Hey, maybe I should write something about that, seeing how Neatl was slowly dying because of my blatant neglect.”