A Storming Thought

     When I first watched Sharp Objects I finished the mini-series within two short days. While watching the show the overall mystery surrounding the death of two girls wasn’t what drew me in. It was the character interactions. It was impressive watching the actors say so much about who they are and how they view the world with such little dialogue and subtle action. And there is a lot this show has to say about small-town life, the patriarchal standards that exist for both women and men and generational trauma. The show brings an interesting and unique perspective on how the subjugation of women is upheld and enforced by not only men but other women as well. It is common for media that highlights the persecution of women to focus solely on how men take part in this systematic oppression. This is a reasonable focus as men benefit the most and are the most visible perpetrators of this societal structure. Men uphold the patriarchy often through physical violence, sexual assault, sexual

During college, I took a world history class. It was required, and I had put it off for long enough. The course covered significant events from the mid-20th century to the current day. The class was mundane, and the professor was exactly what you would expect. A white dude in his mid-sixties with a fascination for a subject that he never realized no one else cared about. His name was Mr. Morris. I remember one day, he came to class unusually somber. His face sagged with sorrow, and his red-rimmed eyes were wet with pain. In old leather shoes, he stood there. For maybe thirty seconds, he did nothing but take deep breaths, and then he began. “The university requires me to teach you about the Black Eye.”  There was silence. Not one born of fear or respect for an authority figure. Not a comfortable silence found in easy moments of boredom or contentment. It was the silence one wishes to avoid at all cost. The quiet that gestates in awkwardness and unease then slithers out of its egg, cover

               Malcolm loved the temple. Its grand image was one of his first memories. Large, intimidating towers watched over the city. Magnificent stained-glass windows, depicting a blue phoenix rising from its ashes, looked upon the citizens like the glowing eyes of a giant. It was a marvelous scarlet edifice, rightfully named the Red Star Temple. The temple could be seen from  anywhere in the city. It even outshone the king’s palace, Blackrock Castle, a rather dull monolith made of jet stone.  As the capital city, Redhaven was often filled with citizens going about their day, but none more so than early in the morning. The temple was so revered that all of the city’s residents would congregate at its steps every morning for the scarlet hour, a dazzling moment when the sun’s first light hit the temple. The sun would bathe the temple in its light and in return, the temple would glow a brilliant blood color, like a giant red star. The citizens would watch in awe and pray to their god