The Crone

Four scavengers crept down the hallway of the abandoned spaceship. It was dark on board, only one large flashlight was held by one searcher to illuminate their path. The silvery metal walls encircled them like a tunnel while the light source reflected off the shiny handrails on either side of the group. The silence was nearly deafening, interrupted only by the softest of breaths and footfalls. 

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Workshop

Max sat down in his swivel chair in the seminar room, excited for his first creative writing workshop as an undergraduate. He had written a piece he was really proud of regarding his experience with intergenerational trauma and racism. His peers had, thus far, seemed very woke and understanding and the writing submitted to the class up until this point had been very personal and visceral stories. The group overall had developed a great rapport, and the professor had been competent and helpful.

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