You know what I love about the end of the year?
    This is the time, when the yearbooks are being signed and you say goodbye to your teachers, that you realize that you truly are a human being that is recognized as existing.
    I get the common feeling that my struggles are what they are usually categorized as: invisible. When I miss days for being sick or have doctors appointments, I often think that no one realizes I’m not there. My absence is filled up. I am just gone.
    But it is when I talk to my teachers and classmates and get their signatures that I am proven wrong. My absence leaves a hole that I thought didn’t exist.

One thing’s for certain, I learned a lot in this class. I know I will always be thankful for the things I learned and the opportunity I got in this class to practice writing so I could get better. Which I definitely did. There is a clear difference between my pieces now versus my pieces from the beginning of the year. I feel like that realization is the reason for the advice I would give to new writers. Whenever someone starts a writing class, know that you will improve and figure out the style you write in. And it is important to not be discouraged if you don’t think your writing is good or you think people may be ‘better’ than you. I know from talking, reading, and peer reviewing throughout the year that everyone has strengths and weaknesses, and that is ok. You may think your writing is absolute trash, but others may think it is amazing. It is important to not compare your writing with a negative mindset, but instead to use it to learn new things and improve at your own pace.

A long, flexible feeding tube lays at the entrance of the left nostril. Moistened with lube, it slowly starts the journey. 

    It reached the nasal cavity who says, “what are you doing here? You don’t belong.”

    The tube says, “I’m sorry, but I need to keep going.” The nasal cavity is angry and becomes red and swollen. The foreign present that doesn't leave causes the nose to cry and wetness runs down from the opening. But the tube keeps going.

    It reaches the esophagus who says, ‘what are you doing here? You don’t belong.”

    The tube says, “I’m sorry but I need to keep going.” The esophagus is irritated and becomes scratchy and sore. The influx of air causes a struggle of pulling and pushing so the intruder will leave. But the tube keeps going.

The night time sky was decorated with the colors of nebulas that blanketed the 5th dimension. Nearby animals from mythological legends all perked their heads up when they heard the piercing cries of a baby. A small bundle of child and blanket layed squirming near a crackling tear in space. As the baby girl kept crying, the tear stitched itself up, and then was gone. A small group of creatures left the flailing baby. Minutes went by as the wailing continued. Suddenly, a soft thud by a humanoid creature with nearly black skin was made on the soft grass; another creature of the same magical species made a thud seconds later on a sturdy tree branch.

    “That must be the creature the others came to get us for,” the Fae who landed on the ground pointed out.

Atlas looked on into the hazy night. The wind blew cold and harsh, or at least it was cold, she realized. In fact she couldn’t feel anything anymore. It all happened so fast…

 She was driving home from the Orphanage For The Troubled, her place of work, when her car was hit. The memory was as clear as day. The fear as she tried to swerve out of the way. The blinding headlights. The loud screeches of tires and the clashing of metal. 

    Then… nothing. It was quiet. It was not cold or warm. It was dark. The next stimulus was laying on a bridge that was blanketed with snow. The snow wasn’t cold as she laid there in shock of what happened. Being smart, she didn’t need someone for an explanation. Atlas knew she had died.