Beautiful, androgynous, and unimaginably lethal. A timeless art-piece, marred by neglect and consequence. He’s a svelte silhouette- young to the bone, but host to a weathered soul. On the green, secluded grounds of Mountain View Cemetery, a dark figure lurks within the silver mist. Today, all will be seen, heard, and felt through a gray filter of uncertainty.
Today the sun’s rays will not penetrate the threshold of sunken clouds. And science concerns itself with what is, not what could be.” “ I’m just saying-” “Your grade is
There is only one reality and infinite possibilities. “There was a time when the brightest minds in the world believed-” “Science-” Holt interjects, “ is reality: quantified.” “Reality is relative.” “No. “Science is falsified all the time,” she says. And in case I’m being too vague, that was not a compliment.” Don’t let him see you sweat. It’s not the quality of my work, it’s the perspective that I’ve-” “Perspective has no place in science.” “I humbly disagree.” “Miss Knightly, there’s absolutely nothing humble about you. You’re not here to romanticize a bunch of groundless assumptions, dress them up in ten-dollar words, and get an ‘A’ for effort.” “ So you agree. “Yes, well, Cognitive Neuroscience is exactly that: science. Or Poetry.” “ I’m happy with the field I’ve chosen,” Neve says, sounding far too rehearsed. “ Are you sure you’re in the right program? You might want to consider switching majors to Creative Writing. Holt’s eyes narrow, a faint smile creeping onto his lips. “With all due respect, professor, you don’t need to be so-” she hesitates, treading with more caution. Even if her work is subpar in Holt’s eyes, there is no need for him to humiliate her by calling it ‘drivel’. I’ll add a little ‘plus’ to your D.” Neve’s blood is boiling.
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