Author: Emily Schutz

As the plane engine began to whir, I laid my 700-page copy of “The Brothers Karamazov” on my lap and pressed my fingertips into the deep creases that always form on my forehead when I try to make sense of existential philosophy. The large, moon-faced man in the seat beside me took my action as...

The classroom’s harsh fluorescent lights flickered ever so gently, exaggerating the shadow cast by my imposing tower of musty library books. Outside, powerful gusts of wind commenced their fatal battle with autumn’s last stubborn leaves clinging desperately to bare branches. Cloistered away indoors from the storm, I perched awkwardly on the hard plastic chair, mass-produced...

The dashed median snapped by as we followed US-12 out of Hillsdale. I cradled a fragile cardboard cup between half-conscious fingers and let my lethargic eyes hover on the streak of yellow that blurred down the middle of the windshield. Drained of vital energy from half a senior-semester’s worth of work and worry, my limp...

The leaves were reluctant to change this year. I suppose I shouldn’t complain since my house chore is to rake them, and I haven’t had to worry about that much as of yet. But there’s something crisp and clean and academic about the reds and oranges that light up campus this time of year. It...

Before I left my house this morning, I gingerly slipped through a maze of dirty clothes and discarded textbooks to get to my coffee pot. I frantically drank my coffee before I could remember what class for which I drug myself out of bed. And once I had flooded my engine with caffeine, it occurred...