Upon joining the Fitch Falcon Press in 2022, Naman Patel was merely a junior staff writer to me. Now, with every reel sent to our Instagram group chat, his presence grows stronger. 

Patel may have told everyone he was attending Northeastern University, yet he keeps me awake every night. In my sleep, I see flashes of a “story idea” or reel that only he thinks is funny. 

I wake up in terror to see his yellow puffer jacket floating above me, or a twisted reenactment of his short-lived debate days playing out by my nightstand. 

My friends may say, “I miss Naman, what a king,” or “I wonder what Naman is up to now.” However, I don’t miss him, and his whereabouts are clear. I wish they weren’t. 

You may be reading this thinking, “This is a weird article. Why would Avery write this?” The truth is, I’m haunted daily by the blank gaze of Naman Patel and his memes of XXXTENTACION and Jimmy Carter side-by-side. This condition extends beyond me, and light must be shed on it. Many other members of the Fitch Falcon Press are haunted by alumni. 

“I’m haunted by Elias Slocum,” said Editor-in-Chief Millie DeBell, “He tells me how terrible my music taste is while I’m trying to go to sleep.” 

Even the advisor, Mr. Pecka, is haunted by a former member. 

“Oh yeah, Zerek Laghari won’t stop giving political commentary when I’m trying to get some shut eye, he also sticks his tongue out and gives a peace sign after every tidbit,” Pecka expressed, annoyingly. “It’s actually quite unsettling.”

I’ve heard the only way to truly rid your nightmares of these demons is to kick them from the Instagram group chat, yet I think my nights would be a tad cooler without that yellow puffer jacket.

This article is a work of satire. We miss you, Naman. Really.