I don’t know how long I have before she arrives, but I think it’s enough to write down what’s been happening to me. My captivity started a few months ago, or maybe years. Maybe it’s only been a few weeks…who’s to say. Anyway, it all began when I was winding down for the night peacefully in my air conditioned Sulz double, alone because my girlfriend was out writing her paper for Medieval Feminist Plumbers, when I suddenly heard a knock on my door. I begrudgingly went to open it, when all of a sudden someone grabbed me from behind, and the smell of chloroform filled my nostrils. When I woke up again, I was sprawled out on the floor of a small classroom with nothing but a stack of email printouts. In what I hope is just a red fountain pen, the top paper had “READ THESE, OR ELSE” written on it.
Oh, the horrors contained in those papers! Pages upon pages of self-important musings on dialogue and unity. The essays are inarticulate and utterly expressionless. Every once in a while, I hear a scampering down the hallway, and Rosenbury herself enters the room to ask my thoughts, but the moment I open my mouth, she tells me that I’m being inflammatory and my opinions are the result of existing in an echo chamber, as if it’s my fault she put me in this cell and subjected me to her Substack drafts!
I haven’t seen sunlight in days, the slop they feed me every few hours is becoming unbearable, and words are beginning to sound meaningless in my head. Hopefully she’ll let me go before she asks me her opinion on this new article. I can’t begin to describe—oh shit, I hear footsteps …if you are reading this, GET ME OUT OF H—-
