Awake
The library hums around me. But the noise doesn't bother me. My reflection in the window is a pale ghost against the twilight. Tonight, the fluorescent lights feel less like a prison. It's like they're illuminating something within me. I trace the elegant script of a French revolutionary, and a shiver runs down my spine. This isn't just history; it's a rebellion against the numbness that's clung to me for so long. Remember that feeling? That hollow ache in my chest? It's still there sometimes. Especially in the evenings, when the silence in our apartment screams louder than any words. Mom's at work, of course. Another long shift at the diner. I try to focus on my homework, but the echoes of her tired sighs haunt me. Before this year, my life had been a monotonous gray. But then I think of Mr. Chen. When he talks about the past, his eyes practically sparkle! He makes history come alive—the passion, the struggle, the sheer audacity of people f...