Every year, an unsuspecting freshman is chosen to enter the Pillar. It calls to them, and they must climb in. My advice? Don’t enter the Pillar; once you do, you will never be the same.
Written by Raina Genaw
The year was 2019, and I was just starting my second semester at Drake. I was dying of exhaustion, fueled by only cynicism and rage, but still blissfully unaware of what would happen in the coming years. Oh, how I miss the Before Times…
It was a normal Friday afternoon. After sleeping in until 1 p.m. and then skipping my 2 o’clock class, I was finally done with school for the week. As I left SCB and headed back to the dorms to hibernate for the next 5 hours, I saw it: the pillar outside of Cline. The Pillar beckons to even the most apathetic of freshman, and they cannot resist the urge to climb it. I was transfixed by The Pillar’s ancient song and, in a fit of inspiration, began to scale it. I reached the top in a frenzy and peered through the grate. Spread before me was a river of stars, the infinite elegance of the universe swirling about in the confines of this concrete tube. My ears began to buzz, my skin crawled, and jolts of electricity bombarded me as my third, fourth, and fifth eyes were pried open. I entered into a deep trance. Night fell, and I found myself walking amongst the stars. I did not know where I was heading, but I knew I must continue onward.
A pilgrim in a foreign land, I was transfixed by the sights of The Pillar. As I walked further and further, I found myself suddenly standing up straighter. I felt something cold clang in my hand and was at once enlightened, for I was holding the now-sentient sword of Francis Marion Drake.
“Carry on, weary wanderer,” commanded the sword.
Freshly imbued with the Drake Spirit, I did as the sword wished. After all, who am I to go against the wishes of such a worthy master?
As I continued my pilgrimage, the world about me became like soft clay, molded by the students who had similarly felt the pillar’s call.
“Beware the accursed ones!” boomed the sword. “Look only as long as you must; we must pass through this place with the greatest of haste!”
The sights that appeared before me were unlike any I had seen before. I passed a gaggle of disgruntled law students walking on heels as high as stilts, a gang of P3 students wearing the still-bleeding skins of freshmen to fit in on campus, and an assembly of business majors arrayed in full clown garb honking and prowling about. Any semblance of hope was lost here, and I must admit that I strongly considered joining a gaunt group of art students who were painting with their own entrails.
Nevertheless, my sword commanded that we press on. Many days and nights passed in this way as I crept ever closer to the end of the tunnel. Fully immunized against the horrors of Drake, I quickly passed the group of environmental science students engaged in human sacrifice, the band students staging a WWE fight, and the theater kids.
At long last, I reached the end of the tunnel, wherein lay the still-beating heart of Francis Marion Drake. Of what happened next, I have little memory; my sword acted on its own whims. I recall only the sound of a faint heartbeat trailing off into nothingness.
When I next came to, I was in a brightly lit chamber. It was here that I noticed a large, radiant man and was blinded by his smooth, bald head. A tumultuous wind began to scream all around us as I realized the true identity of this man: it was Scott Law, The Enforcer. The world shook as I gazed into his all-knowing eyes and I crumpled to the ground, overcome by the Drake Spirit.
When I found the strength to open my eyes once more, I was sprawled out at the base of The Pillar. A pre-med student rushed over to give me a Band-Aid as I brushed myself off, found the strength to stand, and wandered off, enraptured by thoughts of the episode. In the days that followed, I spoke of the experience often. Something changed in me after that day. I began to follow campus rules more and stopped egging the president’s mansion every weekend; I even reported my roommate to our RA for underage drinking. Scott Law had shown me the truth, and I could no longer transgress against it.