Pink Binders Ruined My Life by Britney Guedes
I absolutely hate pink binders. I don't know exactly where my hatred for pink binders originated from, but it's always been there marinating in the back of my mind. I hate the color pink, and I hate binders and there is absolutely nothing that will ever change that.
Pink is definitely my least favorite color. It’s an awful color and I've never understood the attraction people have to it. My hatred for the color pink started a long time ago when I was probably around 8 years old. The feud was so serious that I actually refused to wear the color pink for the longest time (I still refuse hot pink, if you were wondering)
I’m not entirely sure what my original reasoning for deciding to dislike the color so much was, or if I even had one, but I’m sure it was incredibly logical. Although, to be honest, it was probably just one of my strange antics to try to become the complete opposite of what everyone wanted me to be. I was a goofy tomboy that refused to dress up, brush the hair, and practically do anything that could ever possibly connect me to the term “girly.” One of my favorite things to do was actually collect worms and have mud fights with my neighbors across the street. My tomboyish personality is probably where this originated from, and although I am not nearly as attached to being a tomboy, one thing that has remained the same is my disgust for the color pink.
Now, I don't only hate pink binders just because they are pink. That would be way too simple of an explanation. My hostility towards the form of school supplies actually arrived down a separate path. This route probably started around 5th or 6th grade. Now, I don't exactly remember the first time I needed a binder, but for some reason I remember being extremely excited to use one. I honestly think that I believed binders made you cool at one point in time (*cough* “nerd”).
I was obviously very naive and it makes me extremely sad to remember how hopeful I was about what my experience with binders would be. It always started the same way, with an extremely well organized binder. The first trials I experienced with binders were very optimistic. I gave them plenty of chances, however, no matter what I tried, they always seemed to magically explode into a mess of papers.
In 7th grade, I actually remember a teacher of mine sitting down with me to try and help me find a way to better organize my binder… that new system probably worked for about a week. The hopefulness that I had linked to binders slowly turned sour over time, turning me into the binder-hating person that I am now.
This trail has led me to my incredibly negative opinion towards this certain school supplies. I now believe that binders are awful objects that teachers like to force students to use because they want their students to hate them. They take up too much space, you have to constantly fill them with paper, and they are impossible to keep organized. If I could go back in time, I would make sure that Friedrich Soennecken never became an inventor.
Now, there is no actual story behind me connecting the two topics together. The subject just kind of arose one day as a friend of mine had asked me what would happen if they had given me a pink binder as a birthday gift. If this question had not been brought to my attention, I probably would have lived my entire life without coming to this conclusion, however, it has and there is no turning away from it. I now know that pink binders are my ultimate weakness. Just typing the two words next to each other causes my stomach to churn. Because of this, pink binders have ruined my life.
In the Midst of the Colors - Episode 1 By Mansi
Beyond the darkness was a faint glow. The only source of light around; I could leave through that opening. But simultaneously, I couldn’t.
When waking up to the sound of a blood-curdling scream, usually all the worst case scenarios run through your mind, right? Well, I might be an exception. In my neighborhood, however, ear-piercing screams were somewhat of a usual happening. The first few times I heard it, after moving in third grade, was because of a spider, bird droppings, and of course because someone dropped their chocolate bar.
But why? I find myself wondering why people were so afraid of everything. Why were things like this always happening in my neighborhood? Also, whenever they happened, I was always alone. I could never ask anyone in my house if they had heard it or not. I can’t tell whether it’s all in my head or if it’s really happening.
The thought never really bothered me too much though. It was simply something to wonder about. That’s all.
That day, during my last period class, I found myself looking out the window at the graffiti on the old abandoned factory across from my school.
For many, their minds process graffiti as vandalism that must be gotten rid of. But through my eyes, I’ve always seen art. Art that can have some pretty weird, or inspiring messages, or no message at all. But art nonetheless. If you stare at it for long, the complex array of colors will take you to a deep state of mind, in which you will notice things in a way you never have before. You can never truly understand one piece of graffiti because even if the illustrator doesn’t mean to. You are able to interpret something new and amazing every time. That is why I always happen to be looking at it. To find something I missed the time before.
This time, I saw an outline. But I didn’t. The outline resembled that of a person. I couldn’t focus on him. Through the blinding colors, I kept on losing him. He was right in the center and I knew he was there, but when I saw him he was gone in a split second.
By Shahin Choudhury
I had walked into my home and it was completely different - furniture, decor, all had changed… and no one was home. What had happened when I was gone? It had seemed like I had moved into a brand new house. But, who could have handled all of my furniture? All of these questions, but no answers seemed to cross my mind. It was as if a world had went by, as I had just stood there dazed, and the vibrant red pillow held my gaze as my thoughts had rushed by. I had rummaged through the entire house, and what had seemed like an ordinary house, was the complete opposite, as everything had seemed so snug and intricate, with pieces carefully managed with what had seemed like care and compassion, but who could have done it?
The design was so neat and compact, with the elaborate bookcase that were once cluttered with books were now organized by genre, now, whoever had done this I should be thanking them.... As I had went to check my own room, the mysterious individual who had arranged the entire living room, from the couch to the cabinet, had also done my own room as well! The bed that was once on the right side of my room had now been on the left side, in close proximity with the door to the bathroom, and the closet that was once as messy as crow’s nest, was as neat as the living room that had been rearranged!
However, as I had gone check the other bedrooms, it seemed like those were still left in the same condition, with the extra bed in the same position, and the closet still in the same state.
Clearly, the individual who had been in the house was trying to get my attention, and mine alone. But, why? Why would some random person want to grab my attention? It had spooked me, but I do remember a co-worked who had expressed some vigorous feelings about me, and boy was she unpleased, and it was over a subject as small as an ant, with me not completing a certain task by a required time.
She always quite a bit of a snob, but I just ignored it and kept going on with my day, but could she have been the mysterious individual in - charge of this hodgepodge of cleanliness and company? I was a bit skeptical, but she was my boss, and she did possess all of my information…
Should I have called 911? What would I tell them? That a random person had trespassed into my property and had rearranged my furniture? Sounds a bit uncanny, huh? Well, that’s essentially, what had happened! I was staggered, but I had felt as if a peculiar aurora had been present in my home, and it was discombobulating my mind. In addition to the fact that someone may have been inside my home, the aftermath of it was even stranger. The idea that someone had trespassed and gotten into my home and had rearranged my home, with specific rooms being arranged, such as the living room and my own room, but not the others was disturbing.
I decided not to call the authorities, and made the choice to check on how the thief or individual had come in. All the windows were closed, and they were all locked, so how could a person get in through the window? As I checked through the windows to ensure that the lock had been enabled, I noticed a slight crack on window, as if someone had smashed through! As I discovered this, I heard the front entrance doorknob turn, and I quickly found a hiding spot underneath my bed, thinking to myself, that whoever had done this would not go into my room again...
Purple Tulips by Noel
Photograph Adapted by Noel
Drenched in Blue and a spot of gold on their chest
Meant to protect yet start to neglect
Raise their arm to shoot fear
Poison made of metal slices the air
Pain so hard to bear
Ground icy cold overpowered by red
A little girl's favorite color
Color admired by a young brown brother
Sun shining yellow
Our streets being called ghetto
Life’s getting robbed
Mother’s sobbed and sobbed til their heads throbbed
Street lights on the neighborhood glows orange
While blue does what it does best
Make the Brown see pitch black
And put them to rest
Purple tulips being thrown in a box the size of me
My favorite color falling inside with a stem so green
Grandma in the corner letting out a scream
Choir singing as time was changing
Looking down, halo tilting
Blue was guilting
News reporting live saying that I didn’t survive
I barely made it to the age of twenty-five