High School Tour
Medieval Times at Winchester High
Hail ‘fello. Aren’t thou new here? Cometh, ’tis I give thou the grand tour of the school grounds. My name is Charles and I’m one of the pupils at Winchester High, class of 1104. Hail Wildcats! Thou now attends the most prideful school in all of the British Kingdom.
Although, the black plague has obliterated most people in the royal lands, it shan’t stop us from smashing our sworn football nemesis, the York High Hedgehogs. Mostly because the plague has left them frail and weak. ’Tis a bunch of driggle-draggles! Please forgive my explicit language.
Like any school we have an aggressive raggabrush that tortures my ‘fello students. Literally. He is the son of the town executioner. Ol’ Augustus relishes in rubbing our scalp with the points of his knuckles and swishing our heads in the communal defecation pond. ’Tis my luck has it that all students smell like the communal defecation pond given we all bathe a mere twice a year!
Sure, I’m not the most popular kid in school but I’m certainly not Devon. He lives outside of town in a pack of wolves. I would not have acquired a pleasant reputation if it weren’t for my best mate Samuel, who is a raven that perches over ‘yonder on a gargoyle statue.
At Winchester High thou intellect dictates thou popularity. Samuel’s GPA is the 4th highest in our class! And our school is humongous, too. In our grade alone, we have 17 pupils! I really look up to Samuel. He’s really smart, he always gets the fertile doxies, and he knows where all the worms are. My parents tell me to be more like Samuel because he will grow up to be a master mathematician one day. I believe it, too. ’Tis a pleasure to call him my best mate!
Thou can say our curriculum here is always changing. ‘Tis one semester, we tried to discover how to transmute dirt into gold. Another time, upperclassmen dissected rats. They all got the black plague and no one survived.
We only have one teacher. Mr. Benedict had a section of the day where we would scavenge in the forest for berries and fruits. We learnt plenty about botany and medicines, but I think we were foraging food for the town due to the husbandry famine. It was my favorite class until Mr. Benedict was carted off by forest witches and sacrificed on a pile of branches. God save him!
Now, we’re taught by ol’ Neville Cocknose, the stable boy. He doesn’t have a fair understanding of academia ― or any functioning human knowledge ― but he has “street smarts.” I respect that. Praise the Lord for the new teacher!
The kingdom coming soiree is approaching and I have yet to find me a maiden to suitor. I think upon asking the fairhead cowfyne, Tabitha. Exquisite and righteous is she. With grace and virtue, she slaughters bovine with the expertise of an old klazomaniac butcher. I think she can, at least, bare 30 children.
On a field trip to ‘ye ol’ big hole in the ground, we were ambushed by roadside bandits. I watched her strangle each one of them with her bare hands. One after the other. Just when we thought she was done, she said “I’ll be right back” and walked into the forest to wrestle a bear into submission because she was “amped up.”
My ol’ chap turned to me and whispered, “what a horrendous sight!” ’Tis true… for a saddle-goose.
“Nay, ’tis beauty,” I said. That’s when I knew she must be mine. It is only fitting for me to be her suitor… or her my suitor! Alas, it’s the year of 1104, after all!
At the twilight of every eve, I think to myself the big questions in life. Will Tabitha and I wed? Will Samuel become a renowned mathematician envied by the world? Will Winchester High, class of 1104 remain friend for eternity? ’Tis a mystery. There’s one thing I do know. Wildcat pride or die! Hail Wildcats!