Sunday Starvation

by The Cowl Editor on March 15, 2018


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by Jay Willett ’20


The terrain was drenched in the heavy snow—New England had not been kind to my travels, but I still trekked on. My car had broken down around SR-3, and since it was the apocalypse, there were no other options other than the standard walking. I walked through Braintree; the flames had engulfed the mall as I sprinted for the next exit.

Three weeks ended up passing by, and soon enough I realized that I had not had anything to eat during that time. I was too focused on survival but forgot the most crucial element to it all. Every Dunkin’ Donuts I ran by was either overrun by animals or had already burnt to the ground (much like how they toast their bagels).

The McDonalds weren’t much better, as most of them had become arms dealers and ceased selling Big Macs. What I would have done for a nice juicy Big Mac. Anyway, I heard a legend through the grapevine that there was still one restaurant open, one that serves everything from pastas to meats. I was thrilled when I heard the news and headed out in the direction of Providence.

When I arrived back on campus after the apocalypse, I saw that things didn’t bode well for Providence College. People had stolen from the business school, the torch had been toppled (probably the first to go), and Slavin Lawn looked like there was another alumni event that had one of those obnoxiously huge tents that killed the grass. I mean seriously, $60 grand and they just kill the grass like it means nothing and then don’t tend to it for two months? Talk about an eyesore.

Right, sorry, it’s the apocalypse. Anyway, the transformers were blown out, multiple emails from RAs and security littered my inbox, and trees were blown to the side like toys. I thought to myself, somebody could have gotten impaled by those trees! Everything seemed like a New England nor’easter came barreling through and there was zero preparation, but that’s just a guess. Just then I reunited with one of my classmates from school, Jordan.

“Jordan! Jordan! Wake up, my man, what happened here?!” I yelled as I slapped his tender face to consciousness. He groggily rose from the dead brown grass and yawned.

“What happened? I dunno, I’ve been passed out since the Xavier game; my buddies and I got so trashed after it.”

“You didn’t even watch the Nova game, then?” I asked with a panic.

“My heart couldn’t handle two OTs; I needed to rest,” he said with pain in his voice. I put my hand on his shoulder.

“There were three,” I said, and Jordan passed out once again. Just then I noticed that Jordan had ripped his pants but didn’t point it out to him because when you’re a champion you don’t need good pants.

Finally, I had reached my destination, the last dining hall open after the Big East apocalypse. I was crawling, feeling every pang and contraction of my stomach, and bumped into a solid glass door. I looked up and began to weep.


Jordan regained consciousness to my tears.

“Hey, man, Ray’s open I think; they have those fish tacos,” he said with dignity.

“No, that’s enough for one life,” I said on my last breath and passed away silently.