Embarrassment

The Ghost on the Floorboards
The house breathes around me. It’s an old house, full of settling groans and the low hum of the refrigerator. Two in the morning, another Tuesday, another bottle of cheap whiskey working its way through my bloodstream. The wife's asleep upstairs, snoring softly, a familiar, comforting sound, if you don’t think about it too hard. The kids, grown now, gone. Just me, the bottle, and the goddamn moonlight pouring in through the living room window, painting stripes across the hardwood.
By HAADI10 months ago in Confessions
The Weight of the Falling Quiet
The streetlights outside Elias’s window were just dim blurs now, swallowed by the relentless descent. Big, fat flakes, not the tiny stinging kind, but soft, almost lazy, piling up fast. They coated everything, smoothed out the sharp edges of the world. Power lines, fences, the gnarled branches of the old oak in his yard — all turned into soft, white ridges. The quiet. God, the quiet. That was the worst part, always.
By HAADI10 months ago in Confessions
World War 3: Why the Fear Is Growing, Why the Future Is Not Decided
World War 3: Why the Fear Is Growing—and Why the Future Is Not Decided In recent years, the phrase “World War 3” has moved from history books into daily conversation. It appears in news headlines, political speeches, social media debates, and comment sections across the internet. For many people, it represents a growing fear that the world is drifting toward another global catastrophe. But fear alone does not explain why this idea has become so powerful—or why it demands careful discussion rather than panic.
By Wings of Time 10 months ago in Confessions
The Last Train to Nowhere
The rain lashed against the window, thick sheets of it blurring the already featureless landscape. Black. Just black. The old train rattled, a constant, low growl that vibrated through my bones, through the cheap fabric of the seat. Empty car. Just me and the rhythmic squeal of the wheels on wet tracks. An easy escape. That’s what I told myself. A clean break. But my hands, they wouldn’t stop shaking. Not even a little. Clenched tight, white knuckles, like they were trying to hold onto something that was already gone.
By HAADI10 months ago in Confessions
The Glare of Ghost Street
The rain was a cold, constant whisper, a thousand tiny accusations hitting the asphalt. It didn’t let up. Just this endless, soft drumming, washing over everything, blurring the edges of a city that never really slept, just sagged into a kind of tired stupor. I watched it pool in the cracks of the sidewalk, each puddle a shattered mirror, catching the smeared smears of neon from the dive bar, the pizza joint, the flashing vacancy sign of the motel that always smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale regret. Red, blue, sickly green, all twisting and shimmering in the black water. Looked like blood in some places, bruising in others.
By HAADI10 months ago in Confessions
The Stain of Blue
The rain came down in sheets, a cold, relentless drum solo on the city's concrete stage. It wasn't a gentle drizzle; this was the kind that soaked through your jacket in minutes, clung to your eyelashes, and made every neon sign bleed into the slick, black puddles. I walked slow, head down, the hood of my worn-out sweatshirt doing little to keep the chill from my neck. Each puddle was a shattered mirror, reflecting the lurid greens of the liquor store, the frantic reds of the Chinese takeout, the electric blues of the strip club called 'Heaven' that was anything but.
By HAADI10 months ago in Confessions
The Grand Accident of Absolutely Nothing
Nobody knew exactly when the problem began, mostly because nobody was paying attention. This was normal for the town of Blunderfield, where attention was considered a dangerous hobby and thinking too hard could result in mild confusion or, worse, responsibility.
By Gaurav Gupta10 months ago in Confessions
She don’t like you
She don’t like you — and that truth feels dangerous, raw, unsettling. It hits you in the chest before it settles in your mind. You hear it, and something inside you snaps awake. I know. I was you. Chasing. Hoping. Giving. Trying to earn affection that never came. I learned the hard way that women not liking you isn’t about your worth — it’s about a deeper game you didn’t know you were in. A game about value, identity, attraction, and where real loyalty actually comes from. Strap in. This is the truth that changes everything.
By Randolphe Tanoguem10 months ago in Confessions
When Power Ignored Responsibility
A Complaint on Trump: When Power Ignored Responsibility Leadership is not measured by how loudly one speaks, but by how carefully one acts. In times of global uncertainty, the world looks to powerful nations not for dominance, but for stability, cooperation, and restraint. When leadership becomes impulsive, personal, or dismissive of global responsibility, the consequences are not limited to borders. They ripple outward, affecting lives far beyond any single nation.
By Wings of Time 10 months ago in Confessions
The Archivist's Burden
The air in the Grand Reading Room always felt thin, even at midday, but tonight, past closing, it was a chokehold. Elias moved through the hushed expanse, his footsteps absorbed by the thick Persian rugs that had outlasted generations of scholars. Every oak shelf, every towering stack, seemed to lean in, heavy with unspoken histories, with the weight of paper and time. He was a creature of habit, an archivist by trade, but tonight wasn't about cataloging the past. Tonight was about burying it deeper, or maybe, finally, unearthing it.
By HAADI10 months ago in Confessions
The Poetry Dimension. Top Story - December 2025.
I have been telling stories since I first learned to speak. I’ve been writing since I first had the motor control to grip a pencil in my little ravioli fist. One of my two Bachelors degrees is in Creative Writing, for goodness sake! I like to imagine, dear friends and enemies, that I have made somewhat of a life for myself out of the written word. But if this is the case, dear reader, then why does poetry confuse and upset me so damn much?
By Steven Christopher McKnight11 months ago in Confessions
Meghan Markle and the Silence That Speaks Louder Than Words
Meghan Markle is once again in the spotlight, not for her public appearances, interviews, or charity work, but for her relationship with the one person she hasn’t spoken to in years: her father. Recent reports reveal that Thomas Markle is in the hospital, yet the communication from Meghan has been minimal, raising questions about the nature of their fractured bond. The story began with an attempt from Meghan to reach her father through email. Not a call, not a text, not a personal message—just an email. And not just any email, but one that bounced back, showing it went to an inactive address. For anyone else, this would signal urgency: a quick correction, another attempt, a phone call. But Meghan did not act immediately. Days passed, the news of her father’s hospitalization spread, and the public began to notice her absence. Instead of engaging directly, Meghan’s next step was a handwritten letter. A letter is deliberate: it can be shared, quoted, and controlled. It provides a measure of emotional distance while still appearing caring. For many observers, this move was predictable, a pattern they have come to associate with her public life. In private matters, especially those involving family, Meghan often chooses controlled gestures over raw, unfiltered contact. Critics argue that this pattern is strategic. A phone call could be awkward. A personal visit could be misinterpreted. A face-to-face meeting might reveal uncomfortable truths. A letter, however, is polished, safe, and presentable to the public. It allows her to appear as though she is reaching out, without risking the emotional exposure that personal interaction demands. Supporters of Meghan insist she has tried, pointing to her outreach efforts over the years. However, the failed email attempt casts doubt on the sincerity of her actions. Her father has repeatedly asked for direct communication, seeking closure, answers, and connection. The public sees the gap between these requests and her actual response. Her hesitation to visit or call highlights a deeper issue: this is not a matter of logistics. Meghan has the resources, security, and freedom to make a private visit. She has access to private flights, medical privacy, and flexible scheduling. Yet, the act of showing up in person has not occurred, reinforcing the perception of emotional distance. Observers note that Meghan’s gestures are often aligned with her public milestones. Whether it is an interview, a charity announcement, or a media event, her family interactions often coincide with her public narrative. While some defend this as protecting her mental health and peace, others view it as protecting her image first. The estrangement has had consequences for the entire Markle family. Thomas Markle, once a proud and supportive father, now watches from afar as news of his daughter’s life unfolds on screens rather than through conversation. Siblings express frustration, feeling that attempts at reconciliation are blocked by calculated distance. The emotional gap has widened over the years, and moments of crisis, like his hospitalization, only amplify this divide. It is important to note that family conflicts are rarely one-sided. Thomas Markle has his faults, and past disagreements have contributed to this strained dynamic. However, the focus here is Meghan’s approach to handling sensitive family matters publicly. Her calculated, measured interactions have become a pattern, one that prioritizes optics over intimacy. Even now, as Thomas Markle’s health faces serious challenges, Meghan has not publicly acknowledged him with a personal message or a statement. Her handwritten letter, while symbolic, does not replace the human connection she could offer. The public perception is clear: this is a moment for private, heartfelt action, not curated gestures for media consumption. This ongoing saga illustrates the tension between personal relationships and public image. Meghan Markle’s life has transformed dramatically since marrying into the royal family and stepping into the global spotlight. Her identity, brand, and narrative are carefully constructed, leaving little room for messy family realities. The man who once supported her ambitions and shared in her early successes has been increasingly absent from her public story. Critics and observers alike argue that true reconciliation requires vulnerability, direct engagement, and consistent effort. A letter may touch the surface, but it cannot undo years of silence, misunderstandings, and media-fueled tension. Meghan’s story reflects a larger truth: family bonds cannot be entirely managed or scripted. Public gestures, while visible and polished, cannot replace genuine connection. As the world watches, Meghan Markle faces a choice: continue to control the narrative from a distance or step into the messy, unpredictable reality of familial reconciliation. For Thomas Markle, and for many who have followed this story, the hope is simple: direct communication, shared moments, and the possibility of healing before it is too late. Until that happens, the silence between father and daughter speaks louder than any letter ever could. ---
By Behind the Curtain11 months ago in Confessions