A few weeks ago, while studying in my dorm room, a blood-curdling scream reverberated through East Halls. It had obviously arisen from a female.

My roommate rushed to the window to peer into the darkness while I remained rooted to my chair. I was terrified. Visions raced through my mind of a girl being chased and caught and assaulted.

After a few minutes, though, it became apparent that the scream was faked by someone safely tucked away in her dorm room. But it took more than a few minutes for those visions to fade from my mind.

I realize that the screams (which have been repeated periodically ever since) probably function as a stress reliever. But nonetheless, I cannot help but feel that moment of terror every time they echo outside my window. I am a rape victim and, good stress reliever or no, I wish the screams would stop.

But never mind my anxieties for the moment. Do you remember the old fable of the boy who cried wolf? You must realize that every time you scream, the students of East Halls, just like the townsfolk in the story, become more desensitized to them. My roommate, and many others, I'm sure, have stopped running to their window when yet another scream rips through the quad.

What would happen if someone was really in trouble and was fortunate enough to get the chance to scream? I am grimly confident that few would think twice about it. It seems that the little girl crying wolf has put everyone in danger of being gobbled up.

So, please, the next time you need a stress reliever, go the I.M. and run a few laps or turn your stereo up loud. But don't scream. And if you don't believe in wolves, take it from me, they are out there. And we need all the help we can get.