Childhood
USA warning to India after Venezuela
When Strong Words Shake Alliances: Trump, India, and the Power of Political Warnings In global politics, not every warning comes with missiles or soldiers. Sometimes, it comes through speeches, interviews, and policy decisions. During Donald Trump’s presidency, strong language became a regular tool of diplomacy. Allies and rivals alike often found themselves reacting not to actions, but to words. India, a long-time strategic partner of the United States, was not completely immune to this approach.
By Wings of Time 9 months ago in Confessions
Word of the Day: 梨
I feel Yuuichirou for some reason, I don't need to talk to him though, it is probably because of the nerves. Ah yea, he was so stressed I think, he went rabid. Just flashback to memories, you know? I allow myself to process them here but, it is weird because processing them with Jahon, I can say them out loud, but the way he is perceiving everything is like that one tortured ghost on the subway from the movie Ghost.
By Kayla McIntosh9 months ago in Confessions
The Ghost in the Garden
The moon tonight, it's a cold, white disk, slicing through the bare branches outside my window. Same kind of moon we used to have, wasn't it? Full and unforgiving, spilling silver across the lawn like a spilled vial of mercury. I stare at it, my fingers tracing the condensation on the glass. This house, it’s quiet now, the kind of quiet that lets you hear your own heartbeat thrumming against your ribs, a drumbeat of old, buried things.
By HAADI9 months ago in Confessions
The Weight of the Falling Snow
The clock read 2:17 AM. Not that it mattered. Time had stopped for Arthur hours ago, stuck in a thick, silent amber. He stood by the living room window, a mug of cold coffee forgotten on the sill, watching the snow fall. Big, heavy flakes, like torn bits of cotton, drifting down in an impossible hush. They piled on the branches of the ancient oak outside, mounding on the fence line, swallowing the porch swing whole. Everything disappeared under it, erased. The world outside his window was a clean, white lie.
By HAADI9 months ago in Confessions
The Glimmering Lie
It's been three years since Sarah left, and still, this room, this goddamn room, it’s a mausoleum. Not for her, not really. For me. For the hollowed-out thing I became. The air here, it’s thin, sharp, like breathing pulverized ice. And in the center, catching whatever anemic light filters through the drawn blinds, is my confession. My garden of crystal flowers.
By HAADI9 months ago in Confessions
USA, Israel, and Iran-What’s Really Happening
Tensions in the Middle East: USA, Israel, and Iran — What’s Really Happening In the past few days, international attention has focused on a high-profile meeting between Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and former U.S. President Donald Trump at Trump’s private estate in Florida. The talks were not about routine diplomacy — they centered on growing concerns over Iran’s ballistic missile and nuclear programs and how the United States and Israel might respond.
By Wings of Time 9 months ago in Confessions
The Weight of Glass
It started, as these things always do, with a glint. Just a flicker on the sonar, a signature that didn't make sense, too geometric for a natural formation, too sharp for a wreck. Two hundred fathoms down, off a forgotten trench in the Pacific Rim. My old man, God rest his soul, he always said the ocean gives you nothing for free. He was right. It gives you things, alright, but you pay for them, a slow, agonizing interest on your soul.
By HAADI9 months ago in Confessions
The Weight of Unsaid Things
Arthur’s kitchen counter was a graveyard of crumpled paper. Empty coffee mugs, a half-eaten sandwich from lunch, and the amber glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the window were his companions. It was three in the morning again. He held the pen, a cheap ballpoint, its plastic worn smooth from endless nights like these, and stared at the blank page. The fresh sheet mocked him, always did. He’d scribbled the first line a dozen times: 'Clara, I need to tell you…' and then his hand would cramp, his mind would seize, and the whole thing would get wadded up and flung into the overflowing bin by the sink.
By HAADI9 months ago in Confessions
The Last Train to Nowhere
It’s not the rattling, metallic grind of the wheels that wakes me up these nights, not anymore. It’s the silence. That particular kind of dead quiet you only get after the last carriage has rumbled out of sight, leaving you standing on a platform that feels suddenly too big, too empty. And then the cold seeps into your bones, deeper than any winter wind. That’s what I hear.
By HAADI9 months ago in Confessions
The Iron Confession
The rhythm of the rails. That's what gets you. Not the click-clack, not even the grinding steel, but the steady, relentless push forward. Each jolt a small, sharp reminder that you’re moving, that you chose this, that there's no going back. The car was empty. Practically empty. Just me, hunched over a window streaked with rain and grime, and some old man snoring two rows back, his face hidden by a newspaper from yesterday. Or maybe the day before. Doesn't matter. He wasn't looking at me. Nobody was.
By HAADI9 months ago in Confessions
