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 beep had yanked me from sleep. I now lay frozen, listening intently to any other noises—footsteps, perhaps? The screens 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 instinct, woody odor had infiltrated the air. And with each step towards the kitchen, upon reaching the door, I could hardly breathe. Ever so slowly, I pushed it open…