Head of Ipe

Luckily for the Kappa Deltas, the weight of the desk and the distance it had to travel worked in their favor. Unluckily for me, I found myself well within the blast radius of an old wooden desk impacting with a hardened plaza.

The desk landed spectacularly, sending shrapnel in all directions, one of which hit me in the head as I was turning away, knocking me to the ground. Scott, along with a small group of classmates, come out of the doors and onto the terrace just as I awoke, dazed.

Scott slid up beside me an said, “Dude! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said, gingerly patting the growing welt on the side of my head, checking my hand multiple times for blood. “No blood. I must have a hard head.”

Scott laughed. “Well, harder than wood anyway… or, at least, really hard wood.”

We stood up and stared in awe at the mess on the plaza. The tension released, and with need of a break, we broke out the moonshine and a box of chalk, and proceeded to outline each piece of the wooden corpse with care.

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