Bad habits
Letter to the girl at the Falling in Reverse concert in Indy 2025-
To the girl at the Falling in Reverse concert in Indy 2025- I saw the skinny snot that laughed at you as you walked up the stairs minding your own business and excitedly going to catch up to your friend. I’d just walked past her at the bottom of the stairs as I went up to find a spot on the lawn after having just purchased a shirt. I saw her point you out to her boyfriend and they laughed as you walked up. I was just a few steps behind you but you paused when you reached your friend and I kept ascending. I had thought about what I might say to you as I passed but ended up not saying anything, although in my mind, I had already known you were aware of the laughter following you up the steps as I was hearing it clearly myself.
By Sarah Lynn Jonesabout a year ago in Confessions
Do You Trust Me?
Some lessons don’t come through sermons or scriptures. Sometimes they come quietly, when you least expect them, through something as simple as a phone screen and a voice that asks one question you can’t ignore. This is the true story of how God spoke to Joey one night while he played poker on his phone, preparing him for a storm he didn’t see coming.
By Joey Rainesabout a year ago in Confessions
The Yes Next Door. Content Warning.
We make it to the kitchen because water sounds wise and the bed was becoming a storm with no edges. The light over the sink is a warm coin; the counter is cool, slick under my palms. She hands me a glass and watches me drink like the act itself is foreplay. Maybe it is.
By Chahatabout a year ago in Confessions
The Dark Spell
The Dark Spell By Sehar Rana Black magic, evil charms, and spiritual manipulation — things we often dismiss as superstition — have become a silent disease spreading through our society. People fall prey to so-called spiritual healers, destroying lives and families. In our home, there was never a concept of charms, amulets, or black magic. We were a modern, practical family. We believed in hard work, prayer, and compassion. But the storm that hit our family changed everything I had ever believed in. Our home once felt like a piece of heaven — full of laughter, peace, and love. But slowly, that heaven turned into a house of grief. It all began when my mother’s brothers — whom she loved more than her own daughters — stepped into our lives with darkness hidden behind smiles. My mother loved her brothers’ daughters like her own. She gave them love, gifts, and respect beyond measure. But the same people she cared for became the reason for her death. It’s a long story — a painful one — but I will tell it briefly, not to make you cry, but to share what blind trust can cost. My parents got my uncles married, and since we sisters were much younger, we helped our parents in every way we could. When our sisters-in-law came, we treated them like queens. Every wish of theirs was fulfilled. My parents taught us to obey them, even when they were wrong. If they shouted, we stayed quiet. If they complained, my parents scolded us instead. When the first brother got married, happiness filled our home — until, a week later, my mother fell sick. She never recovered fully after that. We didn’t know anything about “black magic.” We thought it was a myth. But neighbors who came to visit whispered, “Someone has done something to your mother.” We didn’t believe them. We trusted doctors instead. For five long years, we took her from one clinic to another. She would get better for a while, then fall sick again — especially after her brothers visited. Then, one day, my uncle forced my mother to fix a marriage between my brother and his daughter. From that day, her health collapsed completely. She could barely walk. Still, we kept denying the rumors about magic. Our mother stopped eating, stopped smiling. She cried in pain every day. For years, we fed her only porridge because she couldn’t digest anything else. Then, one by one, my sisters and I also fell ill. Strange, unexplainable sicknesses that no doctor could diagnose. The same whispers echoed again: “Someone is doing black magic on your family.” But we kept silent. We were taught to be patient, to never accuse anyone. Our brothers, influenced by others, began fighting with us. The same brothers we loved and served started believing that we were hiding things from them — that we were taking their share. They shouted, they cursed, and our house echoed with arguments for years. My mother’s health worsened every time there was a fight. For ten years, we stayed silent — out of respect, out of fear, out of love. Then one day, something even worse happened. My father became seriously ill. Later, we found out that charms and spells had been used against him too. But God saved him. My uncle and his wife weren’t so lucky — the same curse took their lives; my uncle died, and my aunt was left paralyzed. After three more years, the same darkness came for my mother again. She developed a mysterious disease. The doctors couldn’t find the cause. She screamed in pain at night, saying something was burning her from the inside. We could do nothing but watch helplessly as her body weakened day by day. And one morning, our home fell completely silent. My mother was gone. She left this world after years of suffering — not because she did wrong, but because she loved the wrong people too deeply. I wrote this story briefly because if I describe every moment, I would cry while writing — and you would cry while reading. There are things too painful to relive. All I ask is one thing: Pray for my mother. Pray that her soul rests in peace. Pray that her grave is filled with light and that she is granted a place in Jannat-ul-Firdous. Sometimes I still feel her presence — calm, gentle, forgiving — as if she’s whispering, “It’s all right, my daughter. Be patient. God sees everything.” And that’s what keeps me alive.
By Khan about a year ago in Confessions
Waiting to Be Wanted. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Copyright & Disclaimer Copyright © 2025 by Latissha S. Perry (LSP) All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
By Tishabout a year ago in Confessions
The Last Confession: I Burned the Box of Unsent Love Letters, And This is What Happened Next
For ten years, it sat in the back of my closet—a plain, battered cardboard box, stained at the corners from a forgotten spill. It wasn't full of letters I’d received, but letters I’d written, but never mailed. Love letters, apologies that choked in my throat, bursts of rage that evaporated into cold silence, and desperate pleas for attention. All directed at people who, thankfully or regrettably, never read them. It was, in essence, an archive of an alternate life I was always too terrified to step into.
By Hussein Gazoabout a year ago in Confessions
The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli – Full Summary & Analysis. AI-Generated.
📘 Introduction: Why The Prince Still Matters Written in 1513 and published posthumously in 1532, The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli remains one of the most influential works in political theory. Often misunderstood as a manual for tyranny, the book is actually a pragmatic guide for rulers navigating the volatile politics of Renaissance Italy.
By TAPHAabout a year ago in Confessions
The Cat and the Milk Pot
The Cat and the Milk Pot BY:Khan It was only a few months ago, yet the memory remains fresh in my mind — strange, mysterious, and unforgettable. My BA exams were just around the corner when, quite unexpectedly, I fell seriously ill. For days, I couldn’t even get out of bed. Weakness had taken over my body completely; every time I tried to stand, the world around me would spin, forcing me to lie back down again. Naturally, my studies suffered. I could barely read or revise anything. After several days of medication — strictly as prescribed by the doctor — I began to feel slightly better. But by then, I had already lost an entire week. My strength hadn’t returned either. A few days before my exams, my mother sternly instructed me to take care of myself. “Every night before sleeping, drink a glass of milk,” she said. “And don’t stay up late studying. Whatever you need to revise, do it early in the morning.” She was careful about this routine. Every night, she would boil the milk and place the metal pot — the garvi — in my room so it could cool slightly. Once it was lukewarm, I’d pour myself a glass, drink it, and then put the rest in the fridge. Two nights later, something happened that I can never forget. That night, I finished my studies, poured myself a glass of milk, and drank it. The milk was still warm, so I thought I’d put the rest in the fridge after a few minutes. I lay down on my bed — and must have drifted off to sleep without realizing it. I don’t know how long I slept before a loud clang startled me awake. It sounded like a metal pot falling onto the floor. My heart started pounding. I sat up, my eyes darting around the dimly lit room. Something felt off. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement — something small, dark, and fast. At first, I thought I was imagining things. But then I saw it again — a black object bouncing rapidly across the floor, knocking into things and making a noise like tumbling metal. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized that the object was near the milk pot. And then it hit me — the pot was moving on its own! My breath caught in my throat. The garvi was jerking up and down as if some invisible force was trying to lift it. My entire body froze in fear. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. I couldn’t decide whether to run or stay put. Gathering what little courage I had, I reached over and switched on the light. The scene that met my eyes made me gasp out loud. “Oh my God!” It wasn’t a ghost or anything supernatural. It was a black cat — her head completely stuck inside the milk pot! The poor creature must have smelled the milk and, out of curiosity or hunger, pushed her face too far inside. Now her head was wedged tight, and in her panic, she was jumping and thrashing around the room, making the pot clang loudly each time she moved. For a moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The sight was both hilarious and terrifying. The cat kept crashing into furniture, knocking over a stool and a few books from my study table. She was in such distress that it was impossible to go near her. Just then, my mother and brother rushed in, alarmed by the noise. “What happened?” my mother shouted, her eyes wide with shock. I pointed toward the chaos. The cat, still trapped in the garvi, was now spinning in circles like a wild creature. None of us knew what to do. My brother tried to approach her, but she hissed and leapt away. Then, as if nature itself decided to intervene, the cat ran straight into the wall. There was a loud thud, followed by a sharp jerk of her head — and finally, her head came free from the pot! For a few seconds, she just stood there, dazed and confused. Then, realizing she was free, she let out a low growl and dashed toward the door. But in her hurry, she collided with the room cooler and got tangled in the hardboard placed above it. With a frantic leap, she freed herself again and bolted out of my room. My brother quickly opened the lounge door to give her a way out. The moment the door opened, the cat shot past us like an arrow and disappeared into the night. Silence filled the house once again. We all stood there, breathing heavily, trying to process what had just happened. Then, almost at the same time, we burst into laughter. Later, when the excitement settled, we tried to piece together how the cat had ended up in my room in the first place. After a bit of “family investigation,” we concluded that she must have entered through the cooler vent sometime during the night. Drawn by the smell of warm milk, she probably climbed up to the table and dipped her head into the pot — only to find herself trapped. That explained the mysterious noise that had woken me. I remember standing there, staring at the overturned pot and spilled milk, thinking how something so small could turn into such chaos. That night taught me two things: never underestimate the curiosity of a cat — and never leave milk uncovered in your room overnight! Even now, whenever I see a black cat walking along the boundary wall or sitting near the kitchen, I can’t help but smile. Maybe it’s the same mischievous visitor from that unforgettable night — the one who turned my quiet study session into a midnight adventure.
By Khan about a year ago in Confessions
The Things I Never Said Out Loud
The Things I Never Said Out Loud By Hasnain Shah I’ve always believed silence could be an act of kindness. If you don’t say the harsh truth, you won’t hurt anyone. If you keep the bitterness locked inside, you protect the people you love from the sting of your words. At least, that’s what I told myself every time my chest felt heavy with things I couldn’t bring myself to speak.
By Hasnain Shahabout a year ago in Confessions
The iPhone 17: A New Chapter in Apple’s Legacy
When Apple launched the first iPhone in 2007, it didn’t just introduce a new device; it revolutionized the way humans communicate, connect, and create. Every generation since has been more than just a phone—it has been a cultural and technological milestone. With the release of the iPhone 17, Apple continues to honor its tradition of innovation while pushing the boundaries of what a smartphone can be.
By Fazal wahid about a year ago in Confessions
When Stardom Meets Separation: The Truth Behind Nicole Kidman & Keith Urban’s Breakup
In late September 2025, the entertainment world was shaken by news that Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban, one of Hollywood and country music’s most admired power couples, had separated after nearly two decades of marriage. Their love story, which had once stood as a rare testament to stability in the often turbulent world of celebrity relationships, suddenly came to a close.
By Lynn Myersabout a year ago in Confessions
