Literature

By Christina Praggastis 
Sports Editor 

I don’t remember the important parts. I don’t remember what I looked like, the way I talked, how I dressed, what it felt like to be in someone’s arms. I don’t remember the feeling of wind in my hair, or rain on my skin, not even the radiating heat of a fire. I don’t remember any of it. They took that from me: my happiness, my sadness, my fear, my love, and some of my most beloved memories while being human.

By: Kaedyn Kashmir
Campus Editor 

I asked a man on Friday If he would donate just a dime He sneered—and here he say:“You are wasting your time”

By: William Baliton 
Staff Writer

Coated in heaven’s tears, the scent of petrichor glided on the breath of spring. There was an unusual warmth in the air, the kind only found in early summer.