Harvard University

It was five o’clock in the morning, and an intruder was in my home. His vile gurgling sounds had crawled into my room and slinked under my covers, and his deafening beeps had yanked me from sleep. I now lay frozen, listening intently for any other noises—footsteps, perhaps? The screams of my family members?—but the house fell silent. Slowly, I slid out of bed and tiptoed into the dark hallway. The intruder was definitely near—his distinct, woody odor had infiltrated the air. And with each timid step toward the kitchen, upon reaching the door, I could hardly breathe. Ever so slowly, I pushed…