50. What a wordsmith

FIFTY

WHAT A WORDSMITH

Choosing to ignore Professor Langton because if I have to listen to one more fetishized retelling of Nietzsche’s work I’ll scream, I scroll through my socials.

And that’s where I spot it.

Tragic End For Oakwood Student

By

Morgan Neige

Darius Harrington Jr., beloved son, respectable student and friend to some, was found dead at a charity auction held at Mt. Palisades Country Club.

First responders were called to the scene where, according to the member of staff who discovered Mr. Harrington drowning in the pool after a binge-drinking session that went horribly wrong, he was pronounced unresponsive and rushed to the hospital.

An autopsy will take place in the coming days which will hopefully provide his parents with some insight into his passing.

While the administration have shared little about Mr. Harrington’s circumstances, his many absences since the semester started has caused concern with the professors I spoke to. Allegedly, he had a drinking problem which might tie into the cause of death.

The family has yet to release a statement but, for those few affected by his loss, there’ll be a vigil held on the quad on Wednesday at 7 PM. Candles will be provided to those who attend.

I have to applaud Morgan’s skills with the written word—somehow, she managed to get that past the editor.

If the weekend from hell still didn’t have me twisted into knots, I’d even laugh.

Instead, I forward the article to Maxim.

Maxim: Aren’t you in class?

Me: I’m bored and this entertained me

Maxim: Respectable student and friend to some? Ha. Is this the same Morgan behind the food charity at Annenburg?

Me: Yep! Isn’t it a delight? I’m surprised the editor let her go to print

Maxim: Sounds as if the paper has a grudge against him lol. A binge-drinking session?

Me: Artistic flourish

Me: ‘For those FEW who’ll attend.’ ROFL

Maxim: If you’re bored… I have a gift for you

Me:

Maxim: Feel like a visit to your father’s grave tonight?

Me: No way

I gape at my screen.

Maxim: Yes way

Maxim: I think I promised my katyonok that she could defile her father’s grave if she wanted

I bite my lip.

Me: Honestly, I feel less like pissing on it and more like fucking you on top of his tomb

Maxim:

I hide a snicker.

Me: Have I shocked you?

Me: ME? SHOCKING MY FAVORITE AMPUTATER?

Maxim: It’s cold out

Me: LMAO

Me: And?

Maxim: I think we may have found a hard limit of mine, kotik

Maxim:

Me: Even better… Have we found something that makes you SQUEAMISH?

Maxim: Apparently

Me: Is it weird that I’m proud of myself?

Maxim: Probably.

Maxim: But stay freaky.

Me: Gladly

Still proud, I muse:

Me: Wonder if I could get a florist to make me a bunch of flowers

Maxim: Considering that’s their job…

Me: Wait for it

Me: That spells out

Me: C

Me: U

Me: N

Me: T

Maxim: I like this idea more.

Maxim: Then, as a reward for letting me off easy, I’ll fuck you in the back of the car on the way home

Me: NOW THAT SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN!

Me: Your vanilla-like stance on grave-fucking is forgiven

Maxim: How happy I am to know that my kroshka is so easily pleased

Me: Oops! Professor Moron is looking at me. GTG

Maxim: See you soon

Me: xo

“Ms. Vasov,” Langton snaps, and I get the feeling he’s asked me a couple times because he only turns purple when students ignore him.

“What’s the problem, Professor? Can I help?”

He grits his teeth. “I asked you a question.”

“Ah, well, I wasn’t listening…”

Denver Parilla looks at me over her shoulder and winks.

“…but, I have a philosophical question for you…”

Displeased, he snarls, “What?”

“Is it wrong to be in love with a dead man?”

“I’d say it depends…” the guy sitting next to Denver inserts. I think his name’s Callan. “…on whether—”

“Of course not,” Langton interjects. “What does this have to do with—”

“Because I think your unrequited passion for Nietzsche is obscene but worthy of philosophical debate.”

His eyes narrow at the laughter from the stands my statement triggers. “I’ll speak to you after the lecture, Ms. Vasov.”

It’d be wrong to hope he throws me out of the class, wouldn’t it?

Regardless, my smile is sweeter than taffy.

Worth it.

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