BH9

When I was 20 years old, I walked home reading a book. I was so engrossed that I failed to notice the heavy metal vehicle moving at my frail, human body at 40 mph.

It swerved, I stopped, no one was hurt, no one died. They never do.

It was only when I took the cookies out of the oven that I noticed the mark on my arm. I knew what it meant. It was my duty to report to the authorities to be murdered. If I didn’t, anyone who saw it would kill me on sight.

I didn’t want to die. I was only twenty years old! I hadn’t even finished college, much less gotten to all my grand plans and ambitions (never mind that I didn’t have any. I had time to plan out the rest of my life later. So I thought.)

I burned my arm on the cookie sheet. The scar covered the black mark somewhat, and I put a bandaid over it. The people at work didn’t question it.

After some time, the burn healed. The mark remained black over the scar, bigger now. I tried carving it out with a knife. It was winter now, and long sleeves were the norm - no one would notice my injury. The mark remained, the bloody lower layers of my skin black as death’s robes.

From then on I wore long sleeves. When I went to the doctor I covered it with paint and hoped they wouldn’t notice. They didn’t. I was lucky.

The mark grew.

I was in trouble when it reached my wrist. As soon as it covered my hand I would be discovered. I ran.

Soon I will be nothing but a shadow in the night. Perhaps some of the stories they tell of night creatures originate from people like me. Those who escaped, their marks covering them, even the whites of their eyes turned deepest black. In a way, we are no longer human. Isolated, undying, immortal, betrayers of nature’s most fundamental law: all things must come to an end.

If I outlive humanity, will I ever die?

When the sun goes nova, will I still exist?

When the universe ends, will I endure?

Or is death simply a shortcut to that end? When the last star has gone out and matter has been erased, will Death greet me with a weary sigh, saying “where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you for an eternity.”

Chloe: I’ll take one of these.. *picks up broccoli*

Chloe: ..and one of these.. *picks up bananas*

Chloe: ..and one of these! *grabs Beca’s arm and grins*

Maryann Brandon and Mary Jo Markey edited The Force Awakens. Maryann Brandon has worked on almost all of the shows and films Abrams has worked on and Mary Jo Markey is also a frequent collaborator.

Thelma Colbert Schoonmaker has edited all of Martin Scorcese’s films since Raging Bull and worked with him for around 40 years.

Sally Menke edited all of Quentin Tarantino’s films until her tragic death in 2010.

Julia Bloch is an editor gaining attention for her work on Blue Ruin and Green Room.

“Ballet embraces the soft, ethereal and majestic side to women, and yet we often don’t see the media portray black women in this light. My project aims to reveal that women of color possess these qualities. We too are capable of portraying the princess, fairy and swan.”

 —Aesha Ash

Aesha Ash’s prestigious career has included world class roles. Yet she’s now on to a different mission, with three big goals. She wishes to see ballet become more diverse. She hopes to inspire youth from rough areas to pursue their dreams. And she wants to show the world that tough environments can’t hold back talented people, especially those with ambition.

Aesha performed professionally for 13 years. She attended the legendary School of American Ballet; joined the New York City Ballet at age 18; and has danced solo and principal roles for companies like the Béjart Ballet in Lausanne, Switzerland, and the Alonzo King Lines Ballet in San Francisco. Now she’s focused on The Swan Dreams Project, in which she uses imagery to tackle stereotypes placed on black women. Aesha commissions photographers to snap her as a ballerina in her hometown of rugged Rochester, New York, and in Richmond, California, and then donates proceeds from photo sales to organizations helping advance inner city youth. She also donates images to organizations for their fundraisers and to people seeking more positive imagery for their children or groups.

The dancer points out that black women have always existed in ballet, yet few become principals, the highest tier of dancers. When Misty Copeland became the first black female principal with the prestigious American Ballet Theatre last summer, Aesha found the milestone a moment to celebrate, yet sad and troubling that in 2016, we’re still celebrating a first. She hopes The Swan Dreams project will give more dancers — and youths in general — the chance to be celebrated for their own talents.

Rochester has one of America’s highest crime rates. But Aesha hits the streets to prove that her hometown is more than violence and gangs. That’s where her Swan Dreams Project comes in. “My community saw that out of our environment came a ballerina, not just negativity — a little black girl from inner city Rochester actually went on to become a professional ballet dancer in a top-tiered company,” Aesha said in a one-on-one interview for this report. “Youth followed me on the street saying, ‘This is what we need. This lifts us up.’”