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▍𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗂𝖺 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 ! e. y 008. 爱 ᠈ 𝗏𝖾𝗂𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗆 .
MENTIONS OF SA !!
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YOUR FEET TAPPED HASTILY UNDER THE TABLE and your teeth dug into your bottom lip. Sparing the table beside you a glance, you resisted the urge to scream. From pain?—No, from impatience.
Surrounding the three circular tables standing in the center of the room (one of which you were seated) were multiple desks, huddled with computers and chunky binders. A large projector covered half of the whiteboard where papers were pinned messily, although the writings on the board were pretty neat.
Large windows made the room bright, but not warm. Instead, the cool air spewing into the room had your hairs standing up straight. Certificates and dusty newspapers (for aesthetic perhaps) were plastered all over the freshly painted walls. The sweet smell of coffee and doughnuts stuffed your nose.
But, you couldn't pay attention to all that.
The editor of the Eye magazine, a section of The Columbia Daily Spectator, stood only a few feet away from you, conversating (almost endlessly it seemed) with one of the three circular tables in the spacious room. The room was filled with curious minds, ready to take on another story and share it with the world—another passion of yours.
Now that your Tuesday afternoons were to be ruined by Eren Yaegar (the destroyer of anything good in the world) you only had one thing to look forward to on the morning of that dreadful day—journalism.
Of course, writing was at times an extreme pain, and sometimes doing research for countless nights made you wonder if bleach was really as poisonous as the labels say, but you were apparently a masochist. You enjoyed the thrill of it all. Digging deep into the web and tearing apart sketchy agendas.
Today, the thrill was eating at you, because you had the story. The scandalous kind. The kind any Columbia kid with a care of human rights would devour. The kind that encourage people to act out.
