The Onion Dip Column is the satire section. All articles are not to be taken seriously.
“Sol lucebit, et Lunam circum Terram orbit, nam nisi vage definitae res fient.” – Malintellixus Doctrinus
On the afternoon of Monday, April 8th, a large crowd gathered on Hartman Green to offer praise to the Sun God and its Lunar mistress. I walked from Thomas Hall, heading to my upcoming class in Keiper, but found myself amongst dozens of raving zealots waiting to see the sun and moon embrace. I began to wonder about the significance of this ritual: had it any relation to astrology? Or was it harkening back to some ancient pagan sacrament? Alas, I had no time to relieve my ignorance. Keiper Liberal Arts beckoned, and I could do naught but heed its call.
Upon my arrival in the classroom, I was met with a yet more concerning omen: my professor had written a proclamation on the whiteboard informing us that we were to meet outdoors, presumably in order to take part in the strange and uncanny celebrations that I had just recently witnessed. A litany of thoughts began to course my mind. What might I find along the paths of humble Franklin & Marshall College on this unknown but obviously popular holiday: grand feasts? Offerings to a mysterious pantheon? Human sacrifice on a grand scale? With trepidation, I continued to the location my professor had specified.
Eventually, I reached the benches on which my professor desired us to sit in a circle, as if we were about to partake in the rites of some arcane and antique cult.
“I just thought we’d meet outside today to witness the solar eclipse,” he said, pointing up at the sun, still obscured behind layers of light cloud.
Ah, I thought, the solar eclipse! Of great significance to all manner of entities in the religious and occult spheres. It was frightening enough that my professor seemingly bought into these notions, but I became yet more horrified as I realized that the rest of my class was more or less in accordance with him! They produced from their bags a strange sort of visor which they positioned upon their faces in order to gaze, for great periods of time, at the partially-obscured sun. What was this madness? Lest I arouse the ire of this mob, I began to plot my retreat.
Just as I was about to slink off, however, the eclipse reached its totality. Screams erupted from Hartman Green. My peers became quite attentive, staring with their spectacles at the sky above, oohing and ahhing all the while. Heavens above! This was a level of impromptu indoctrination I had never heard mention of, let alone seen with my own two eyes! Had I missed some massive wave of mind control that had ripped over the rest of the population? Regardless, I found myself in a state of extreme disarray. I could hardly move, and before I had the chance to get away, a pupil tapped my shoulder and held out his hand.
“Here, take a pair of glasses. It’s quite a view!”
I still know not what compelled me to obey (perhaps I, too had succumbed, in some degree, to whatever putrid malaise has befallen our species), but I positioned the frame upon my face and looked to the sky. At first, I saw nothing, but then a shape appeared. The sun, all but obscured by the moon, is some representation of the ancient secrets of the universe. Good God, I exclaimed, I see it now! It was only then that I realized I was being pulled under their spell. In horror, I tore the glasses from my face and ran away, screaming and hollering.
Thus, I have escaped the dangers of this strange ritual for the time being. I now hide in Thomas Hall, the lights in my room dimmed, eating from a family-size bag of Cheetos I keep hidden in a drawer for emergencies. I am afraid to look between the shutters of my blinds. I do not know what awaits me in this strange new world, out on the campus of Franklin & Marshall College, amongst hoards of sungazers and their wretched accomplices.
Sophomore Gavin Myer is a Staff Writer and connoisseur of the mysterious and macabre. His email is gmyer@fandm.edu.