Leornia: An Extra Credit Journey into Economics
Not the Real World
Except for four years of college and an occasional daydream, Tyler Martin had spent the bulk of his twenty-one years of existence wandering through what university-folk off-handedly refer to as the ‘real world.’ His two decades of experience gave Tyler Martin the confidence to identify the ‘real world’ whenever or wherever it might appear. Tyler reached the inescapable conclusion that this was not the real world. Tyler martin was quite confident, quite emphatic in fact, that he was not in the ‘real world.’
The dreariest, bleariest, dankest of overcast twilight late-autumn evenings was no match for the eerie darkness that enveloped him. Perhaps the cause of the eeriness was the glow of dull green light. Or maybe Tyler’s overwhelming sense of an unearthly environment came from the overwhelmingly, unearthly environment. The dense foliage that surrounded him appeared to be the creation of an unbalanced biologist playing a hideous practical joke on mother nature.
The highlight of this forest-like flora was a preponderance of towering, tree-like plants with yellow trunks and broad red leaves. The expansive red leaves were fashioned at the top of each ‘tree’ like an opened umbrella. ‘Umbrella trees’ was the obvious thought for anyone raised in the sheltered confines of ‘the real world.’ Interspersed with these majestic umbrella trees were a myriad of smaller yellow plants with red-orange leaves folded like adolescent closed umbrellas awaiting their opportunity to attain legal, regal adulthood.
The green glow permeating the foliage was especially eerie as it flickered off the underside of the canopy formed by the tops of the full-grown umbrellas. This covering, like a distraught circus tent, formed a protective shield to the brilliant pink sky that managed a few curious peeks through infrequent gaps. One small crack in this umbrella canopy, where ‘real world’ citizens might have expected a normal yellow sun, showed the presence of a dazzling blue circle of light.
An immeasurably small fraction of this radiant blue light made its way through the umbrella shield, through the dense foliage, and down to the base of the smooth, yellow trunks were it conspired with the incessant green glow to tickle the tops of a thick, red, invitingly soft, layer of carpet-like grass.
Intermixed with the youthful, folded umbrella plants and protruding haphazardly from the otherwise smooth layer of red, carpet-like grass were the apparent sources of the green luminescence. Jutting from clumps of what would otherwise pass as normal, knee high, brush (if not for the distinctive turquoise hue) were thick stalks of varying lengths that shone with a brilliant green radiance. These glowing sticks and their turquoise nests were most noticeable along a narrow strip of orange dirt that formed a narrow path through the bizarre foliage.
This accented strip of orange was also where Tyler Martin found his face. He laid motionless on the dirt, blowing puffs of orange dust into the air as he tried to breathe. This was one heck of a way to earn extra credit.
Tyler rolled to an awkward sitting position and plucked his smudged glasses from the orange dirt. He searched in vain for a dirt-free spot on his shirt that might serve as cleaning rag. His blurred, nearsighted vision, however, amplified this grotesque environment and convinced him to abandoned his search. He blew as much dust as possible from his spectacles, and restored them to their accustomed position. He then tried to brush the thin, penetrating layer of dust from his clothes. This attempt was equally futile, but it gave him time to collect his thoughts. Sitting in the ominous twilight of this macabre world, memory of recent events began to trickle into his brain.
Little more than twenty minutes had passed since Tyler had begun a trek, seldom undertaken by mortal students, down ancient halls and up darkened stairs to the office occupied by Professor Francis. Documented testimonials skirting about the student body of Western State University purported, on the highest authority, that Professor John Francis ate inquisitive students then mounted their heads in a trophy case. It was quite a collection, so they said, accumulated over the centuries by this enigmatic economics professor. Tyler was somewhat wary of this last bit of folklore, recalling vaguely that the formal study of economics had been around only since the late 1700s.
Unfortunately, the obscure notion of some guy named Adam Smith writing something about wealth that marked the origination of economics in the late eighteenth century was about the only bit of economics that Tyler could recollect. This was most unfortunate given the final examination for the course was a mere five days away.
Tyler needed help!
That’s why this normally introverted senior braved the seemingly impenetrable barrier of intimidating rumors for a visit to Professor Francis.
Want More?
