Megan Cablk

I like to think of myself as a relatively peaceful person. I tend to be the master of indifference, trying to not let the words or feelings of other people affect me in favor of avoiding the conflict and protecting my own personal sanity. Does this sometimes result in a lack of advocating for myself and heightens the potential for me to be walked on by someone else? Yes, but I tend to be cognizant of these things and can step up to defend myself when I deem it necessary. There are few things that can get a true, blood boiling, head spinning, heart pounding rage out of me, but there is one thing that is sure to do it every single time. Whatever.

Hey, I think this could be something really fun for us to do!

Whatever. 

I heard you were having a bad day, is there anything I can do to help you?

It’s whatever.

This is something that is really important to me, and I would appreciate it if you could respect that.

Whatever.

In all of my interactions with whatever., I have never had an experience even remotely close to pleasant. No matter the context, no matter the justification, no matter what it is in response to, I cannot fathom why someone would believe that is a good response. Is it the cool indifference that makes the person’s original statement invalidated? Does it make the person feel more powerful to deprive the person of a well-written answer that recognizes their feelings instead of dismissing them? I’m not sure. 

In a conversation, I can do nothing with whatever. There is no response to come back with. If I try to keep the same conversation going, I am likely to be met with that same dismissive energy. If I try to change the conversation, I am justifying and reinforcing the behavior. If I call someone out for it, I become the weird girl who gets so genuinely angry over “just a word.” So, congratulations, with just eight letters you have essentially shut down lines of communication!

I am willing to end relationships over whatever. Hear me out: I am not a Twitter user cancelling a celebrity over the absolute smallest of injustices. If whatever. becomes a pattern, I will respectfully ask  you to stop and try my best to explain why I set that as a personal boundary, just as I am doing now. But as with any set boundary, if that continues to be crossed time and time again there will eventually be a point of no return. 

However, allow me to qualify my argument. I am not opposed to all forms of whatever; my true qualm is with whatever. Whatever you want to do, I’m down with whatever, and whatever sounds good are all perfectly valid uses of a valid word in the English language. The discrepancy here is all in the context and connotation. To use whatever. as a weapon to strike at another person is where I start having issues. There are thousands upon thousands of possible combinations of words to respond to the same question with marginally more effort and consideration for how the other person will feel. If you don’t want to do something or talk about it — just say that. There’s no reason for whatever. to be the first instinct. 

Now, I know exactly what you’re thinking: Megan it’s just a word, you’re being a little aggressive. People use it all of the time and don’t mean anything negative by it. But, it’s not really just a word, is it?  Words are power; connotation is power. Receiving a whatever. when you are trying to have a genuine conversation — trying to connect with someone — effectively severs that connection. My words are an extension of me just as yours are an extension of you. If you are not able to honor me through a justified response that doesn’t nullify the entire conversation, that is (whether you understand it or not) a reflection of your character. The words we choose to use and the connotations we choose to use have a much larger impact than we tend to consider in the moment; what may seem to be a minuscule decision in an irrelevant conversation allows doubt and uncertainty to bloom in the mind of the person on the receiving end. What did I do wrong? Are they mad? Do they even want to talk to me?  Every word can be a stake driven through the heart or a balm used to heal. 

So, please, pick another way to respond. Or whatever.

The short story, All the King’s Horses by Kurt Vonnegut, offers a compelling and horrifying view into the relations between war, power, and human life. In the story, Colonel Bryan Kelly and fifteen other Americans, including his wife and twin sons,  are taken as prisoners of war by Communist guerilla chief Pi Ying after their plane crash lands on the Asiatic mainland. Pi Ying offers the Colonel an untraditional and sadistic means to win their freedom: play Pi Ying, and eventually the Russian Major Barzov,  in a game of chess, with the sixteen prisoners making up the Colonel’s chess pieces. When a piece gets captured, the prisoner is killed. If the Colonel loses the game, they will all be killed. Their only hope is to win the game with as few casualties as possible.

A crucial piece in understanding the short story is understanding the author, Kurt Vonnegut. Born in 1922,

A portrait of Kurt Vonnegut (Flickr).

Vonnegut served in the army during World War II (A Brief…). Vonnegut was captured and taken prisoner by the Germans during the Battle of the Bulge. He was sent to Dresden, which was later bombed heavily by the British and American forces. Part of VOnnegut’s tasks as a POW was to clean up the dead bodies after bombing. This intimate and traumatic experience with the horrors of war leaks into many of his works, including his claim to fame novel Slaughterhouse-Five, and is glaringly present in All the King’s Horses. As the Colonel plays the game of chess against Pi Ying, he frequently switches between the cold, emotionless military man who needs to preserve as much life as possible, to a broken, terrified man who realizes he is playing with human lives that are being killed directly as a result of his actions. Colonel Kelly realizes that his actions are “…no different, philosophically, from what he had known in war.” As a former POW himself, Vonnegut understands the desperation of the position the Americans are in. More than anything, they want to be let free with their lives, even if the only way to do it is to appeal to Pi Ying’s sadistic game. The Colonel is able to remove himself from the moral dilemma, as the leaders who handled Vonnegut’s situation must have done, to try and win the “battle” even if that means sacrificing lives. There are characters, such as the young corporal, who try to resist the decisions Kelly is making, perhaps reflecting Vonnegut’s own sentiments towards those in power during his imprisonment who allowed him and many others to experience such horrors. 

One of the most important tools Vonnegut uses in the story is his characterization of Colonel Kelly. In the beginning of the story, Vonnegut uses a direct writing style to show the objectivity of the Colonel; he was able to regard his fellow prisoners as “… no longer human, but a piece capable of moving diagonally across the board…” Vonnegut sets up the Colonel to seem heartless, not comprehending the value of human life, as a means of protecting himself from the horrors he knows he has to commit to be able to ensure the safety of the majority of the prisoners, including his wife and kids. But, after the first player is killed, the Colonel flips entirely in the other direction, as his “… calm was shattered, and with it the illusion of the game.” The

An image depicting the final moves between Colonel Kelly and his final competitor, Barzov.

Colonel regains his humanity in a split second, but is no longer able to think through his moves to best protect the players and win the game. This duality exists inside him for the majority of the game — he understands that he must sacrifice some people, but his emotions frequently get in the way of making objective decisions. Through the complex characterization of the Colonel, Vonnegut offers important philosophical questions about the complexities of war and the decisions that have to be made for it to occur. The Colonel fights to protect his sanity by removing himself from the situation and his emotions, but reality is not willing to let him go so easily. On a broader level, the Colonel is used to represent the government and the decisions that are made every day with human lives, whether fatal or not, that frequently occur without input from said people. This restriction of freedom is dangerous to the foundation of a country, which can be seen in the Colonel’s own mental torment that tries to tear him apart as he tries to hold himself together. 

Overall, All the King’s Horses, is an extremely thought provoking short story, covering the horrors of war, the balance of power, and the potency — or lack thereof — of human emotions and their effect on actions. The implications of the story are not for the faint of heart, but cause the reader to question power dynamics and their own morals, making for an extremely important short story that has already impacted generations, and is bound to continue its relevance long into the future.

Works Cited

“A Brief Biography – Kurt Vonnegut Museum And Library”. Kurt Vonnegut Museum And Library, 2020, https://www.vonnegutlibrary.org/kurt-biography/. Accessed 12 Oct 2020.

““It Was The Narcotic Of Generalship. It Was The Essence Of War.” Kurt Vonnegut’S Short Story, “All The King’S Horses””. Bibliophilopolis, 2010, https://bibliophilica.wordpress.com/2010/10/14/it-was-the-narcotic-of-generalship-it-was-the-essence-of-war-kurt-vonneguts-short-story-all-the-kings-horses/. Accessed 12 Oct 2020.

“The Tension Between The Powerful And The Powerless: Political Manipulation In “All The King’s Horses” And ‘Wag The Dog’ | Literature Essay Samples”. Literature Essay Samples, 2019,

Every room in my house has a book. From the young adult novels bursting out of my bookshelf, to the weathered cookbooks lining the kitchen counter, to the random Robert B. Parker book that resides in the downstairs bathroom, I’ve always been surrounded by the words and worlds crafted by others. 

It all started with my grandma. Ever since the day I was born, she would spend her mornings scouring the

From the left: Me., my grandpa, my sister, my grandma, my cousin Lilliana, my cousin Jasmine.

New York Times’ Bestseller List for children and young adult books. The second she found one that sounded remotely interesting, it would be in her Amazon cart, ready for the next birthday, holiday, or random Thursday night dinner. She enabled my reading addiction. She introduced me to Harry Potter, bought me my first kindle, and constantly asked about what I was reading with genuine interest. For us, books were an olive branch, almost an apology. By the time I was born, my grandma was in worse health than when my sister was young; day-long excursions in the city weren’t realistic anymore. Our memories together are engrained between the pages of Alex Rider, instead of on a swing set. But to me, the connection that books gave us was more than enough. 

The books my grandma gave me only opened the floodgates. Throughout elementary school and junior high, I read everything I could get my hands on. Books, comics, newspapers, the back of cereal boxes in the morning — if it had words, I was reading it. I became immersed in the all encompassing world of reading. Within minutes of starting a book I was attached to the characters, invested in the plot, and tearing through every detail to get to the resolution. It consumed my reality; in second grade, I was so lost in my novel that I didn’t notice my class line up for recess until my teacher came over and tapped me on the shoulder. 

If there was nothing around me to read, I would craft my own stories in my head. Tales of princesses and superstars were woven into my reality — so much so that my parents could take me on any errand without fuss, I would simply begin a new storyline in my head or pick up where the last one left off.The books, television shows, and movies I was consuming laid the foundation for my own stories of adventure and friendship. I had recurring original characters, usually people I wished I could be more like, take on every plot device under the sun. Soon, I would finally put those stories to a page. Saved on my moms old desktop macbook are seemingly hundreds of half-finished stories, written without finesse but certainly with enthusiasm. Quickly, I became invested in the words and worlds crafted by myself. 

As I grew older, my enthusiasm still burned, but had to be put aside to accommodate for the life I chose; entire afternoons spent reading were sacrificed for soccer practices, nights spent typing out my daydreams were converted into study sessions. Still, I always wanted to find a new outlet for the passion I had built up for reading and writing. Then, in sophomore year, I took the leap of faith to take journalism instead of a traditional English class. Within a week I knew I had found my outlet. I dove into the details of the Mueller report, climate change warnings, and school board policy with the same fervor as reading before. I explored other people’s narratives as well as my own, writing on the actions of others and my own opinions. My passions for reading and writing converged in one spot — the newsroom. Now, I end exactly where I started, wrapped up in the words and worlds crafted by others, but now, my own words put these people on a pedestal for the world to see.