Written in collaboration with Dr. Benson. I used to have a grudge against my college dorm because of all the dorms on the Bob Jones University campus, it was the furthest away from
“Rusty, where does this spatula go?” I held up a heat-weathered and browning object of undetermined age, perfect for flipping ham in a skillet. Rusty, a heat-weathered and browning object himself, unbent himself
It feels like our world is being ambushed by a mysterious sniper on one of the world’s tallest buildings. Citizens panic while policemen search to end this cause of fear.
But I love him for his attitude. Really, he’s a bit of a punk, picking fights all the time, usually fights he can’t win. But he fights for a reason, and he never compromises on that.
“Make sure you don’t have any valuables in your pockets,” Luke warned as we got out of the little red taxi. We were standing in front of a very oriental-looking blue archway. All kinds of people were streaming in and out of it.
It started as a strangely comfortable yet alarming pulsating throb in my spine. I was about ten years old at the time. I can remember having this feeling during PE class while sitting on the cold, dusty rubber floor
I’m convinced Julie Andrews would make the best Freshman Seminar peer leader. Why? Because of her song, “My Favorite Things.” Life in an abbey must have resembled college life a whole lot.
Big sister. Bodyguards have nothing on me. No aviators necessary. I’m talking Solo Swat Team. Little bully in the park? You could see his feathers stand straight up when I offered to