Crack! The echoes of whips fill the halls of Quartz Hill High as students scream and beg for mercy. Begging, however, does not work – not with these monsters. Mrs. Martinez and the Editor-in-Chief of The Ubiquity, Cody Wilson, laugh while staring down at the helpless slaves forced to write. QHHS journalists are seen as nothing more than cogs in a machine, whose only purpose is to spew out media for the masses of students to consume.

We all sit at our desks, crying and thinking about what choices led us to this last layer of Dante’s Inferno. Running is not an option; anyone who tries to escape is shot on sight. Once you fall into the Journalism grip, you will never leave. The only thing a QHHS journalist can hope for is that their writing career will be put to an end, so they can escape this nightmare of a reality.

These are all truths that I was oblivious to as I first signed onto the Journalism staff. I had no intentions of joining this class beginning of sophomore year. However, a close friend of mine manipulated me into doing so. This “friend” was none other than the Editor-in-Chief, who was simply looking for more free, underaged labor to continue the ongoing horror of journalism. I was so happy back then – we all were.

Journalism changed us … it’s something that tears you apart piece by piece. Once you are nothing but pieces, it rearranges you back into the perfect, mindless worker. That is what this class desires most: not students, but lifeless robots. The abilities you provide mean nothing, the ideas you give mean nothing. The only thing journalism wants is a dog that will do whatever its master says.

The brave and strong-willed always try to fight the chains of our oppressors. With big, bright eyes, they lead the charge of change and freedom. They sing the songs of idealism, with only the thoughts of others on their mind. These students are the ones who are made examples of. Journalism will always destroy hope, especially if it is from another student. Hope is journalism’s greatest enemy. That is why they remove it from the classroom. It will be slowly drained from you, until you are nothing but a shell of what you once were.

While in the small room of fascism, you are valued lower than everything. My time as a senior is almost over, which means my value to journalism is almost at an end. Once that happens, I will be dispensed like a broken pencil into the garbage. So, please, everyone who reads this, learn from my experience in journalism. Never let another fall into the bear trap of this class. Tell everyone that I scored Journalism a 7/10.