Kiran Shere-Wolfe, student

 The Carver roof is an anomaly to many students. It is a treasure many seek, but none can afford to. The Carver roof is unfortunately restricted, with access prohibited to students. Certain teachers, such as Mr. Cox hold the skeleton key to such wonders, yet it is a luxury guarded closely. And so it teases us, we look up to it like man casts his gaze up to the sky, yet there will be no answers from the tan cement structure. And so, Carver students prayers go unanswered, their hopes shattered, and their deepest curiosities are left to remain as mysteries.  

 Until now.  


 It has been echoed in the hallways of this school, not bellowed down the granite halls; but kept in the deepest crevices darker than the bathroom tiles. A secret that dwells in the depths, shared only through whispers, knowing only shadow, never light. An urban legend passed from forefather to forefather; spoken only where ears cannot hear, eyes cannot see, and mouths can only mutter the illest of truths. The genesis of this knowledge is unknown and can be traced back far before the days of Babylon, Jericho and Damascus. It is a legend not to be taken in vain, a tale that both illuminates the hope of man, and a forbidden knowledge that delves into the most terror and vile parts of man’s psyche. It is a revelation of eldritch stature, a concept unfathomable, an answer to all that is, was and will be. It can drive one mad with what it reveals, bring one’s mind to the fringes of reality, and cast them into the abyss of the unknown. Yet for those willing to partake in the sacred drink and survive the flooding of knowledge will be met with a euphoric nirvana like that of assimilation with the primordial womb.  


At this point, Dear Reader, I must warn you:, heed my words. The ink upon this scripture is not meant to be seen by all. They are words not written by myself, but by the hand of the void. Text inscribed with answers human muscle, joints and ligaments cannot muster the strength to transcribe. The eyes of man were not meant to gaze upon this holy testament, it is a piece of writing that surpasses the Bible, Torah, karma sutra and Hardy Boys in every imaginable way. It has been known to cause any person slightly less than perfectly sane to combust into a frenzy of boiling blood and charred skin, melted eyes and liquid teeth as the entire body leaks out the pores of skin as the entire essence is deconstructed to its roots inside a bag of flesh. The pain and misery these texts can reap cannot be understood in words, and for that I must urge you to turn back less you have not prepared yourself for what lies ahead. I am merely the questing beast, and you. Dear Reader, must take the mantle of Arther. Should you continue be ready for the evil-est of evils man can offer, a whirlpool hell of pain and tragedy, a woe that must yours to burden. You. Have. Been. Warned.   


 Now, for those brave enough, or foolish, to continue with this cursed passage, prepare yourself for the information, for once it has been read, it can never be undone. If you survive, it may haunt thee till the end of days and beyond. In order to reach ascension, one must, at the time of one-o-five p.m. to two-thirty p.m., enter the Carver elevator. This can be any day of the week; however, it is limited to this short period of time only. Next, you must grace the steel circles with the tender sinew of thy finger. The combination is precise, with no room for error, and must be done in this exact order, third, second, first, with no more or no less than zero point five seconds in-between each button press less you wish for death. Next you must do a little twirl, counter clockwise for no more than three seconds and for but only one rotation. Upon completion the ground will shake, the earth will cry with the knowledge of what has been done. Plates will shift, rivers will flood, the sky will be riddled with cascades of meteors, many will perish. However, what’s done is done, and when the screams cease and the turbulence ends, the gears will turn, and the elevator casts you up to the roof.  

You have done it. You have ascended. 


Unfortunately, for an old soul as myself, I have never dared to discover what lies upon there. I can only tell you sweet nothings that have been repeated by previous travelers. My hope has faded and I will never know the joy of the Carver roof. I have heard luscious tales of beasts that walked the earth Milenia ago, springs of cool refreshing water and a view that not even God themself can picture. Alas, for me, the only comforts I have are stories. Please young reader, I urge you, if you have the strength, to do so, voyage forward. Claim the holy grail and seek the treasure I will never know. I may not be able to find the primordial truth, but I find solace knowing one day, someone, somewhere will discover the fountain of youth that is the Carver roof, and maybe, just maybe, they can tell me about it.