Silence is the virtue of fools. -Sir Francis Bacon

Dear 100 Hour Board,

It rained all day yesterday, and was still raining when I went to bed. In the morning, I woke up to snow. I didn't think much of it at first.

Then I discovered the tragedy.

The massacre, really.

Eased into a sense of false security by a week of warmth and a day of rain, worms all over BYU campus ventured from the safety of their soil onto the sidewalks and streets of BYU campus. When the ice and snow fell without warning, the exposed worms didn't even have a chance. Poor little guys.

What does this mean for the worm population on BYU campus? It looks like a ton of worms, is it a majority? How long will it take the population to recover? And how will the quality of the soil fare until its faithful stewards return?

-A solemn witness


Dear Somber,

I recall the days in which I was just as blissfully innocent as you are now... A part of me wishes to let you continue in your happy ignorance, but I am bound by my office as a Board Writer to only impart truth. Just be warned, dear Reader, even the bleak picture you paint is preferable, and indeed seems downright lighthearted when compared with the actual grave situation at hand.

As has been mentioned many times on the Board, there are monstrous beasts dwelling underneath BYU: tunnel worms. A little less well known is that all worms are merely cousins to these dreaded creatures. Those seemingly harmless earthworms that supposedly only eat dirt? They are in the service of their over-sized overlords, and as such are bent on the annihilation by way of consumption of all peoples.

Normally dormant in winter, these misleadingly small foes were revived by the recent rainfall. They gleefully emerged from their hiding places deep in the earth to wreak havoc.  

This being my first major rainfall after having become a writer, I did not think to take the necessary precautions prior to venturing out last Friday night. Thus I was caught unawares on the dark streets of Provo. As I merrily made my way along Center Street, I began to notice small worms wriggling around on the pavement. I merely stepped over them without giving the matter much thought. Soon, more and more worms started converging upon my path, until the ground was a writhing mass of slimy forms, the moonlight glistening on their bodies. The true gravity of my plight having dawned on me, I began to run, striving valiantly to avoid my tiny pursuers (which were gradually becoming larger, as more joined the throng). 

Despite my best efforts, the worms started oozing up through my shoes. They were intent on covering me with slime as a way to incapacitate and thus ultimately bring me before the tunnel worms. 

I was getting desperate, and knew that it wouldn't be long before the worms achieved their nefarious aims. Then I saw my salvation: a huge puddle. I knew if I jumped in it, my aspiring captors would drown in its depths, and I would be free. Gathering my last vestiges of strength, I made the leap to the water. 

After that critical turning point, I was able to carefully make my way to the safety of my apartment. The next morning, I noted with relief that snow had fallen; many worms would surely have perished from the cold, weakening the tunnel worms' grip on the world above their lairs.

Though the worms suffered a loss, they are still here. Regrouping beneath the surface, they are certain to rise again. Thus we must ever exercise constant vigilance.