Life
God Never Dies
The notion of a divine being, whether referred to as God, Allah, the Creator, or via any different name, has been central to human spirituality and philosophy for millennia. Across cultures and religions, the idea of a supreme, eternal deity has endured. In this article, we will delve into the timeless belief that "God by no means dies, perpetually and forever," analyzing the reasons behind this conviction and the profound influence it has had on humanity's religious journey.
By Moharif Yulianto3 years ago in Writers
The Story In It. Top Story - September 2023.
Writing began for me after I received my first lock diary. The kind children get at school book fairs or prizes at school carnivals or raffles. That is where I got mine. It had a cheap lock with a small key that opened it. The cover was white with little colorful heart's all over it. The pages were white with black lines, but the edges of the pages were gold. I would write in it when extremely happy, sad or mad. I could say it all, get everything out. Next, I started writing random ideas related to music or movies. Things I saw out in the world or interesting tidbits I heard. Those were my first legitimate writings. My later diaries would house compilations of poems mixed in with daily happenings. My grandmother wrote in a journal/Diary every night, almost religiously. As a child, I think I mimicked this. Later, I respected it for the process and record I could revisit. Possibly, I often thought, others could even find meaning in the writings after I was dead and gone. After all, we all hope to leave our own unique mark in the world, however small or insignificant. However, I consider one short story my first real story. I will share it below. A New Beginning The metal was cold underneath my legs. The walls were too clean and too white to bring any comfort, for I had seen them too many times in the past month. Here I sat in the doctor's office, waiting for my prognosis. I kept biting my nails, although I had already diminished them. What would the doctor say? Had the cancer spread? Would any treatment work? I heard the uneven footsteps of my doctor approaching. I look up straight into his Santa-like face as he came in the door. Although in my heart, I knew he was bearing no presents, the one gift I wanted was good news about my future. He explained to me that the cancer had spread, but there were still plenty of treatments to try. He told me to stay optimistic, because nothing was lost. Nothing lost! I thought to myself, how could he say that. I was going to be their science expirement for who knows how long and with no way of knowing the outcome. He said his speech to me so mechanically with no signs of emotion that I wondered if he was even human. Over the next three months, I felt thi disease, cancer, strip me of everything: my hair, my strength, my courage, my spirit, and almost my dignity. I cursed the world and all those luckier than me, at times. It all just seemed so unfair, why me?! I knew the treatments weren't working. I didn't need a doctor for that. I recognized death around me. When I was at the store, it weighed down my basket. At night, it looked in through my window. I screamed out at it often saying, "Leave me alone...you wont take me, dont you see I'm not ready....I'm not ready!". One night, so overwhelmed, I began crying. I cried all that night and through the next day until I could physically cry no more. That's when the struggle with death was on. I would beat it, not let it get the best of me. I would laugh at it instead of scream. I began spending as much time as possible with my family and dedicating myself to all I ever wanted to accomplish. I stopped feeling sorry for myself and became as active as my body would let me physically and mentally. When the night came that death crept into my room and stared me in the eyes, I didn't run because I knew it was my time and it would find me eventually wherever I tried to hide. So instead, I laughed and grabbed his hand. That is when I realized everything was just beginning. As I followed death, I reunited with all the spirits of the past. I learned that although my body had died I would be kept alive in many different forms. I was swept in the ocean breeze, carried in the birds song, and even held a spot glowing in the night sky. I kissed my loved one's with the rain and let them know I care in different ways. Like I said, it all really had just begun. I thought about the past and how silly I had been to fear it all. I remember having to read this infront of a class and wishing I had a more fun light hearted story to share. When I finished reading I saw my teacher, Mrs. Brislin, crying. She then whispered, see me after class. The rest of class I tried to guess what I had done wrong. I met her after class. She inquired why I had chose to write this particular story. I responded, answering, it was because one of my Aunts had died from cancer. I was imagining her. It was also at the beginning of my mom's long battle with cancer and maybe it was my way of preparing for the worst. She began tearing up while staring at me. Then she responded, "Thank you". Then she went on to tell me she had just been diagnosed with cancer. She told me she needed to hear that and just thank you. She told me it was beautiful in between the sadness. Although she would die of cancer I often think of this moment. My first nod of appreciation for something I could offer through writing. It made such an insignificant story in the world seem important. Originally I had dedicated this story to my Aunt who passed away. Now I dedicate it to my aunt, Mrs. Brislin and my mom who I can't imagine the world without. Although, we have been assured, by doctor's, we are on a limited clock. I find truth and solace in the words all these years later. Placated by the line's "I kiss my loved one's with the rain". However, it is also the inspiration that inspires me to try to write humorous or positive stories. A way to capture the simple beauty that exists in the world that can be so easily forgotten in hard times. I would say it is a labor of love and not easily accomplished many days, but this memory gives me strength. Stories of all kinds can help people. Sent from my Galaxy
By simplicity3 years ago in Writers
After death there is real
The concept of lifestyles after demise has intrigued humanity for centuries, transcending cultures, religions, and philosophies. While it stays one of the most profound and deeply rooted beliefs throughout the world, the notion of an existence beyond our mortal realm is regularly met with skepticism and doubt. In this article, we will delve into the interesting concept that "After death, there is real life," inspecting the diverse views and proof that have shaped this enduring belief.
By Moharif Yulianto3 years ago in Writers
What is Your Voice?
Detecting Your Accent Despite opinions to the contrary, what constitutes a writer’s “voice” relies on their writing style, technique, vocabulary, and grammatical structure. Detecting a writer’s voice is something that most people do after reading a specific author for a long time. It’s like your relationship with someone that you've become intimately familiar with. Family members, friends, and coworkers are all people we become so familiar with their speech patterns that we instantly know if someone is trying to impersonate them. Or if there is something wrong with them, by the way, they are talking alone.
By Atomic Historian3 years ago in Writers
From Fuzzy Feelings to Finer Verses
Have you ever been told you can’t? That you aren’t good enough? Take a moment. Breathe. Now, imagine meeting me in person. Imagine we’re sitting across from each other (or side by side if direct eye contact isn’t your thing). You’d notice that I rarely flaunt my identity. But today, I lay my cards on the table and tell you I am a poet and an author with bona fide publications to my name. (Please, don’t rush off to find them; this isn’t a sales pitch.)
By Bridge Theory3 years ago in Writers
Writing Fanfic Saved My Life. Runner-Up in Writers Challenge. Top Story - September 2023.
When I was a very young girl, I lived in a world built inside my head. My external world was a very scary place. My father drank a lot. And when he drank, he got loud and sometimes… he got violent. It was a lot to take in as a child. My internal world often included myself and the characters from a tv show or movie I recently watched. Mostly, it was Bonanza. I loved and still love that show and I wanted Adam Cartwright to be my dad.
By Lynda Spargur3 years ago in Writers
Filling the Blank Page
I was always a writer in school, as early as the elementary grades. When we learned that we had to write an essay, my classmates would groan while I would become giddy with anticipation, sharpening my pencils and pulling out stacks of paper. On one sixth-grade assignment, I had inexplicably forgotten to write a short answer in the middle of the homework. My teacher somehow overlooked my omission and gave me a 97% on the assignment. I immediately brought the issue to her attention, and she lowered the grade but gave me credit for being honest. Instead of 77%, I ended up with 85%. When she saw my reaction, she asked me why I was still upset, and I told her because I didn’t get to write the answer.
By Nanette M. Day3 years ago in Writers
Rising from the Ashes
In the dimly lit room of a small apartment in Lyon, France, Sara sat alone, gazing at the fading sunlight streaming through the curtains. Her eyes, once filled with the fire of determination, were now brimming with tears as she clutched a faded photograph. It was a picture of her and her teammates, their faces etched with despair, taken moments after the final whistle had blown in the previous Women's World Cup. They had lost. Heartbreak had washed over them like a tidal wave, drowning their dreams of glory.
By Lubega Abubakari3 years ago in Writers
