The DQ of Amherst College

Marah Brubaker ’19



That no man alive today can boast of having walked with giants is not oft disputed, but there is one woman who indubitably has. Millennia ago the planet was a harsh and frozen wasteland. Mammals of gargantuan stature roamed the continents, wandering across limitless expanses of glacial ice. The ground miles below had not been touched by light for epochs. Modern scientists attributed the formation of these massive ice sheets to climate change, stating (somewhat ignorantly) that the Earth naturally undergoes fluctuations of warm periods and cold periods, often lasting millions of years.

How wrong they were.

The true Cause emerged from the the iron-nickel core of this planet billions of years before those glaciers even came to be. They say she rose from the furnaces of this world, hotter than magma, stronger than tungsten. Even then she was an ageless, timeless being capable of immense vocal power. Her name was Marah, and the air in her lungs made this place to what it is today. The sheer seismicity of her singing moved mountains.

It was said that the mere timbre of her voice was warm enough to create life, and create she did. She sang our ancestors into existence, watched and smiled as single-celled organisms evolved into sentient creatures and populated the world. She serenaded to them when they cowered in their dens, gave them the courage to live another day. She loved them, these creatures borne of her pure vocal majesty.

But all good things must have a bad side. Marah looked on as her favorite children, the dinosaurs, misbehaved and quarreled with one another. Though she was kind and tried her best to be patient with them, those guys had really started to piss her off.

So she killed them.

It was a sight to see, even more so a sound to hear. That same voice that before had brought life to this world took it away in a minute with her terrifyingly brilliant arrangement of Beyoncé’s “Run the World.” (It is not well known that the Queen’s music was, in fact, entirely written by Marah, the real Queen.)

Thus was it seen that badass Marah was as cold as she was hot. By causing a mass-extinction she confounded the World, which – forever pinned in an attempt to please its singing superior – interpreted this badassery as a request for cooler weather. Glaciers formed, mammoths and sabertooths frolicked, and an angry Marah drove them all northward.

As she rode she sang, and as she sang the ice freaked, fried, and melted before her, carving out intricate inland lakes and islands. One of these islands came to be known by the human name of Amherst, Massachusetts. A mythically cool a cappella group formed at the summit, where there was a small settlement of semi-elitist youths. Marah graced them with her life-changing presence, if only in passing as she rested from her fiery ride. For her, four years is but a millisecond, not even worth dwelling upon; the singers of the DQ felt blessed to sing with her nonetheless.

Marah, the First Singer, will, of course, soon resume her journey northward. Nothing – not even the unchallenged musical glory of DQ – can long keep her from her glacial hunt. May her tectonic tunes reign forever.