Bleeding Crimson
Freeing Kodak Black
The lockers blatter together like church bells, clattering under the fists of students running amuck in the halls. Snickers erupt from outside the room, snake under the closed door, and fill the room like smoke. The footsteps grow louder, flowing towards the room, and a young girl walks in, asking for tutoring in math—and the noise ebbs away behind her.
Do You Believe in Miracles?
I falter. Yes? Maybe? Memories blur behind my eyes like a black and white movie reel, spinning spinning spinning. It lands on my acceptance letter. Knee-jerk reactions land in the throat and the wound begins to hemorrhage, a lump develops. Swallowing assuages this fear, caresses the thing that refuses to be anything more than dark and hard and lumpy and invulnerable into confession.
The Sacrifices We Make for Success
Yet, a two hour class I had a few weeks ago was not like the others.The professor usually starts class with an anecdote and leads into the topic; ironically, I don’t remember what the intended lesson was. What I do remember, however, is the lesson I took home:
To Those of Us Who Don’t Get Enough Sleep
This stopped me in my tracks. Usually, my mornings at Annenberg consist of controlling my quaking hands so my coffee doesn’t spill and making up fake lives for other breakfast-goers. The person two tables ahead preps for a marathon this weekend, picks at their egg whites and grilled chicken. The kid with the headphones and a laptop is furiously scribbling the answers to a p-set due in 10 minutes. I was beginning to marionette an alternate reality for the girl sitting diagonal to me, but her conversation piqued my interest.
