There are certain things that happen at Elsewhere University. Sometime your roommate goes missing and is replaced by something intolerable, or you sing just a little to well, a little to close to midnight. Sometimes that project thats worth fifty percent of your grade goes missing overnight, replaced by a pile of acorns and a single vial of something that glows and never look the same twice. Sometime, you have no choice but to go on a Quest.
When that happens, you can go into the teacher offices at midnight, English when the moon is waxing, Philosophy when its full, and Art when it waning, and meet with the Teacher.
They teach no classes, have no posted office hours, never go to board meetings, and have tenure. They are not Gentry, but that are also not human. They work all hours in their studio, making things never seen or heard by the lucky.
If you are respectful, and never look to closely at the papers on their desk, and present your case clearly and with conviction, they will smile, with teeth just a little to white. They will tell you how to hold yourself, and teach you how to speak in riddles. And if you are strong and brave and filled with fire, they will give you a Gift of silver and iron.
Those who seek the Teacher almost always from their Quest alive, but not always whole. They always feel watched. The Gentry have a love for the well spoken, and the Teacher teaches well.
Trust me, you don’t wanna love me. You don’t wanna love someone who is incapable of loving you back. You don’t wanna love someone who is only gonna hurt you sometimes unintentionally but most of the times intentionally. You don’t wanna love a girl who can’t look at herself in the mirror or any reflective object. You don’t wanna love a girl who can kill the soul of a person without even flinching just because her own soul was murdered. You don’t wanna love someone who will tear you apart piece by piece with a smile on her face. You don’t wanna love someone who can’t even look anyone in the eye, who can’t have anyone look at her. You don’t wanna love someone who is always searching for ways to bring herself on the edge of life. You don’t wanna love someone who is always trying to kill herself just to feel alive. You don’t wanna love a screw up like me
Argentina can be beguiling, but its grand European
architecture and lively coffee culture obscure a dark past: In the 1970s and
early ‘80s, thousands of people were tortured and killed under the country’s
military dictatorship. In many cases, the children of the disappeared were
kidnapped, and some of those children were raised by their parents’ murderers.
That troubled past serves as a backdrop for Things We Lost in the Fire, an
unsettling new collection by Argentine writer Mariana Enriquez.