Calliope Duford

Presented through superhero comics and Saturday morning cartoons, the prison system seems near perfect. Bad people who do bad things get separated from the good people who don’t do bad things, and while they’re separated, all they need to do is be on their best behavior to rejoin society. Unless, of course, they did a really bad thing. Those people die, which is the only suitable punishment for doing things that are bad. When met with reality, and politics, the system quickly falls apart.

When I was in fifth grade, my teacher — a woman I respected and loved dearly — took me out into the hallway and told me that I needed to grow thicker skin. I was being bullied, and I was rather vocal about the mistreatment from my peers, but it’s much easier to deal with a student who is quiet about their suffering than one who isn’t. Boys will be boys, after all. She would be very proud of just how thick my skin has become.

When I was little, my parents showed me “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”. I was little enough that I don’t remember any of that particular watch-through, but my parents have a story that they love to retell. My house in Portland sits right next to a public park. Throughout my childhood, I had some of the best people-watching spots imaginable. One time, right around when my parents showed me “Buffy,” a blonde woman was jogging outside.