I sat and pondered this for a very long time. The events that had occurred in my lifetime, until a point, were rather mundane in every meaning and sense of the word. As a professor of linguistics my rudimentary teaching style has won me no awards or praises, most of my manuscripts and findings went unpublished or badly reviewed by my peers. Those tidings never meant much to me anyway, for it wasn’t glory that I went into linguistics for, it was the awe and mystery of ancient languages and the transformations such languages go through throughout time that won my heart. I put forth an effort to my students to understand how and why we speak English - through mostly coincidence,

if there is such a thing. Our language is still evolving and always will. I thought of language as truly an art, crafted, forged, and smithed over eons. I taught my students about words and the ways they represent thoughts - like swords made of iron and steel, each generation forging stronger and stronger versions with the ability to cut clean. All students heard me, but few truly listened.

There was one student though, now that I recall, in my younger years that was brought to me by an unresolved coincidence, if there is such a thing. He stepped into my class for an elective course I taught called ‘intro to ancient languages’, open to all students at the university. I felt this class as more easy-going and relaxed. I could bring forth the imagination of the students and introduce them to exciting topics they likely had never known before. Like the association of our modern English with Germanic, Latin and Semitic routes. The class was always taught in the older wing of the University, located adjacent to the cobblestone courtyard in a building that’s foundation was well over 100 years old. The classroom itself was old-lecture style dark and wooden; most of it creaked at any movement.

Over many years and many a scotch, my mind has grown vague at the remembrance of the young man’s name, but for sake of this manuscript we shall call him Jason. Funny how I should remember the precise amount of seating in this one particular classroom, but not the name of the most peculiar student I had come across, alas. Jason sat at an aisle seat, exactly fourteen rows up on the left side, he sat there every day. The sixth window always allowed the sun to light up Jason with its ray, but he was never bothered like the other students. Now that I think on it, this is what sparked my curiosity with the young lad. On the end of my third lecture in ANCT101, I had an irresistible disposition to approach Jason about his sun-resistant tendencies. As the boy picked up his booked bag and swung it over his shoulder I regarded him by taking a slight jog over whilst putting my hand up to capture his attention.

“Jason! Excuse me, Jason!”

I said realising the boy had literally been watching me the entire time. He turned his head, “Pardon me Jason, but I was hoping to speak with you for a moment if it wouldn’t be any trouble”. He looked down to his watch... I don’t recall him wearing a watch.

“I really must be going to my next lecture professor; I had hoped to get a good seat. Professor Gerheardt’s economics class is captivating”. Gerheardt’s economics class is the lowest rated class in student satisfaction at this entire University I thought, alas.

“Well then I won’t be keeping you young sir”, I said, chipper as always.

“Very good sir, have a nice day”. The boy nudged past me and scrambled down the creaking wooden stairs, but upon his reaching the door I had an urge yet again to get the bottom of this sun business.

“The sun not bother you lad?!” I shouted. Jason turned, one hand on the door.

“Pardon me sir?” he said, one eyebrow turned up in obvious confusion. I attempted to redeem myself.

“I noticed you sit directly in the sun come through that window”, I pointed to the sixth square window, “...if it bothers you I can put the blinds down as it were.”

“No, no the sun doesn’t bother me much sir, thank you though. I’ll be off now.” Jason pulled the door and stepped out of the room as I stood fourteen rows up, suddenly becoming aware of my abhorrence for heights. In spite of my current vertigo I did notice that sun was blinding me from the left side so I jerked my head to the right covering the sun with the left hand in a make-shift brim. Upon regaining my sight, I observed the sun shining on a crumpled piece of paper. Trash obviously, students are the messy type. I picked it up and carried it down the stairs, still using the hand-brim to shield me from the brightness. I reached my desk on the raised stage platform at the bottom of the lecture-hall to toss this paper in the trash, but I thought I might have a look see; it couldn’t hurt, especially if some student thought it as garbage. I un-crumpled the page to decipher the message, but when I smoothed out the wrinkles I could not make out the words. I had never seen these characters and patterns before, strange and elegant. The swooping and cursive nature landed my first assumption at some derivative of Arabic, but the dotting and dejected connectivity were not adherently Arabic, nor Syriac or Hebrew. I jetted to my desk, slamming the page down in excitement at this bizarre phrase. I elected my spectacles to my nose and reached into a drawer of my old-stained desk to pull out a magnifying glass. Upon retrieving my magnifying glass I tilted the paper into the sun to get a clear image of this mystery note.

The magnification helped in the sense that I may now physically view the message more clearly, but in linguistic terms;

I hadn’t the foggiest what this language was...

Closer, closer my eye moved toward the page, words becoming more vivid, larger. The scantly drawn characters spiked my imagination as I peered down in awe at their mystery. Suddenly I observed a strange smell, a piney, woodland type smell, something out of a marshmallow-infused bonfire type experience. I looked up and scanned my view, nothing out of the ordinary. A glimpse of brightness caught my eye, coming from the page. I had set the damn thing on fire! “Oh!” I shouted as an Englishman might, patting the paper and flapping it about to extinguish the flames. Once the flames were out I reviewed the damage. The note was totally indistinguishable, not that I had any sort of distinguishing sense of the context of the note anyways, but nonetheless the paper was completely useless. As is your brain you dimwit, I thought. I pondered on my misfortune for a moment realising I had destroyed a very interesting little puzzle that would have occupied me for quite some time. It struck me as odd that I should find something so strange in such an ordinary University, in an even more ordinary classroom. I thought then that the only thing out of the ordinary was Jason, very peculiar boy indeed. I sensed I must further investigate in order to put to rest this confounded paper I had so carelessly destroyed. Perhaps it was simply gibberish the boy or his classmate had written for a joke or a crude attempt at creating their own language, which would indicate great intelligence and better yet, interest in my class. 

- Anonymous