The Fourth State of Matter | The New Yorker

Remembering a campus shooting.

Save this story Save this story Their lives were ticking like alarm clocks getting ready to go off, although none of us were aware of it yet. Illustration by Chad Hagen The collie wakes me up about three times a night, summoning me from a great distance as I row my boat through a dim, complicated dream. She’s on the shoreline, barking. Wake up. She’s staring at me with her head slightly tipped to the side, long nose, gazing eyes, toenails clenched to get a purchase on the wood floor. We used to call her the face of love. She totters on her broomstick legs into the hallway and over the doorsill

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• Shaleen Baral

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