the concrete stadium air hangs heavy between the robes and the ground as the mass of polyester floods in. Four years of missed classes, late homework assignments, eight AM classes, drunken walks home, fake IDs, highlighted textbooks, religious protesters, pregnancy scares have found its legs in this gross display. As the collectives individual families suffocate from the stands, the notorious pig, doted with collegiate merit, shakes the hand of every little sucker that made him rich. Behind his wet smile of truly heartfelt joy, the extinguished terror of a stomped out prophecy breathes in the porous air. Some will be placated by boats and rental properties. Some will spend their Mondays falling asleep on a sticky barstool. But they will look back in this moment: their freedom died. In two years time the regret will clog their throat and they’ll cough out dust.
An outbreak of loud claps all around me. Every few seconds. My tongue is a coffee flavoured desert. My new hat is strangling the top of my head. My eyes stare back at me through the two shiny black mirrors. Foot mirrors. Ants run through the veins in my legs becoming more and more frantic as the speaker gets closer to calling out my name.
“Barry McHugh”
The crowd explodes.
My heart punches my ribs. The ants have now infiltrated my abdominal organs. I jolt up in retaliation, reminding them who is in charge of this body. I feel 1000 eyes fixate on me as I walk up to receive my certificate.