It was mid-January, 2018, and I was sitting cross legged at the kitchen table. I was drinking coffee and watching the news. I was still in pajamas and my hair was a mess.

The story on the news was really quite something. Even now, months later, I don’t like to think about it.

It was the story of Blaze Bernstein.

If you don’t know, Blaze Bernstein was an openly gay Jewish student at the University of Pennsylvania. He was nineteen years old when he was stabbed to death by a Neo-Nazi.

As you can imagine, hearing this put me in quite a mood. I turned the TV off.

I scanned the room, in need of something to take my mind off Blaze. I spotted my backpack on the floor. I slid it towards me and opened it. I pulled out a battered copy of Othello.

Perfect, I thought. I began to read.

I loved the book Othello. I loved to hate the scheming antagonist, Iago. His destructiveness killed me. Really, it did.

I had been reading for nearly ten minutes when my sister walked into the room.

She yawned. She eyed my hair, which was, like I said, a mess.

“You look stupid.” she said.

“Don’t be mean.” I sniffed.

She grinned. “Sticks and stones can break your bones but words can never hurt you.”

I smacked her.

She grabbed a bowl, some milk, and a box of cereal, then sat down next to me.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

“Othello.”

“Shakespeare?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hmm.” she said, “Do you have another book? I wanna read, too.”

“I’ve got a copy of The Call of the Wild in my bag. You can read that, if you like.”

“No.” she made a face. “I hate that book.”

“How come?”

“Everyone’s so mean to the sweet little dogs. It’s unbelievable.”

“Well, it was a long time ago. It was normal back then. It’s only today that that kind of thing doesn't fly.”

“Cause of laws?” she asked

“No. Cause of society. Society would call them down with the highest possible intensity.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said,

“It’s really strange, you know? It’s hard to imagine the kind of society that would have primed people to beat and kill innocent dogs.”

I shrugged. “They probably didn’t think it was strange at all. The society they were surrounded by was the only society they really knew.”

She was quiet again. Then she pointed to my book.

“Is Othello the good guy or the bad guy?” she asked

“The good guy,” I said. “Why would the book be named after the bad guy?”

She shrugged, “Shakespeare does that sometimes.”

“Huh.”

“So what’s it about?” she asked

“It’s about a black general in Venice. ” I told her. “The story talks about the events that take place that lead him to kill his wife.”

She gave me an odd look. “The black general is Othello?”

“Yeah.”

“How is he the good guy if he killed his wife?” she said.

“Well, he gets tricked into it.” I explained, “You see, throughout this whole story, this guy Iago keeps telling Othello all these lies about her. Othello thought his wife was cheating. Iago was the real bad guy.”

Gwen shook her head. “But Iago just said words. He didn’t kill anybody.”

“But Othello wouldn’t have either if it weren’t for Iago.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right about that. But don’t let Othello get off free. He killed someone.” she said.

“I know. But still.”

At this point, I decided I was done reading Othello. I was no longer in the mood.

I set down the book and turned the TV back on.

I flipped through the various news stations, looking for one that wasn’t talking about Blaze.

Quickly enough, I found one.

That’s a funny thing about news stations. They don’t always report on the same things.