A mark in crimson

A mark in crimson

It began as something to fear. The red pen came in many hands — teachers, peers, even family — each one tearing through my work with sharp, decisive strokes. A line through a phrase. A question mark beside a sentence I thought was clear. It slashed across my paper, creating a chasm between where I stood and where I wanted to go. The marks made me second-guess myself. They made me wonder if I was missing something everyone else already understood…