Whitney, a college professor should have known better than to be unfaithful Roxanne, the Registrar.
Roxanne had been charmed by Whitney’s knowledge of Ancient Civilizations, and when he had given her an authentic Roman coin and said “from one treasure to another,” she had genuinely felt as if she were a cherished artifact.
Unfortunately, the next week, Roxanne caught sight of Whitney giving another one of these so called unique items to Bobbie, the Director of Student Affairs.
“Student affairs, indeed,” said Roxanne, her eyes narrowing, as if she were some kind of vengeful practitioner of the dark arts, which, unfortunately for Whitney, she was.
The following semester, Whitney walked into the lecture hall for his first class of the new year, and was surprised to find it empty. He became even more surprised when each successive class was deserted as well. Sensing vengeful actions, Whitney stalked away, fuming.
He decided that a good lunch would calm him, he went to the cafeteria, which had an ATM at the front. His ATM card would not work, however, and when he stopped by the row of mailboxes for the Humanities professors, his mailbox was no longer there. Angry now, really angry, he stalked into the Ancient History office, where he yelled at the secretary who quietly told him that she had no idea who he was.
He sprinted toward the Registrar’s office, but then felt a tingling in his pocket. He took out his wallet, which vibrated in his hands, and the glow from the cards inside actually made him squint. Then the glow began to fade, and the cards became transparent.
Horrified, he pulled the nearly transparent cards from his wallet, and closed his hand as they faded not just from view, but from existence.
As he resumed his sprint to the Registrar, his arms became stumps, and his mouth opened wide with each gasping breath, until an ever larger hole engulfed his head. The ends of his disintegrating legs skipped on the ground, first the feet, then the knees, then just below the hips.
Finally, the last of him scattered across the earth as the last of the cells that had been Whitney responded to the memo from the director of Cellular records telling all cells that they were no longer a part of Whitney’s body.
“Take away that person’s records,” said Roxanne, tapping the tips of her left thumb and fingers to their corresponding partners in the other hand, “and you take away that person’s existence.”
Roxanne reached into her lower right hand drawer, where she kept her spell books in a secret compartment that stored the books in another dimension. As she flipped through them, she smiled.
Director of Student Affairs, she thought.
Thousands of new students, each with a separate housing assignment next semester.
What could possibly go wrong?