As the clock struck midnight, Claire, a weary journalist, boarded the last train home after a long day of chasing stories. The carriage was dimly lit and nearly empty, save for a few passengers huddled in their seats, eyes glued to their devices. The atmosphere felt heavy, as if secrets lurked in the shadows. Just as the train began to chug along the darkened tracks, a sudden storm rolled in, rattling the windows and plunging the train into chaos. The lights flickered, and an eerie silence enveloped the cabin. Claire's instincts kicked in; she sensed something was off. Curiosity piqued, she moved through the aisles, overhearing snippets of whispered conversations and noticing nervous glances exchanged between passengers. One man, in particular, caught her attention: a sharply-dressed individual with an unsettling calm about him. He was sitting alone, tapping away on his phone, yet there was a tension in his posture that suggested he was more than he seemed. As the storm raged outside, the train came to a screeching halt. The conductor announced a temporary stop due to fallen debris on the tracks. Claire's heart raced; she knew this was her chance to uncover the truth. Driven by a mix of fear and determination, she approached the man. “What's going on? You seem… anxious,” she said, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. He looked up, eyes darting. “I'm just waiting for the power to come back,” he replied, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. “But it's not just the storm. There's something more.” Before Claire could probe further, the lights flickered out completely. Panic erupted as passengers shouted and scrambled for the emergency lights. In the confusion, Claire felt a shove from behind, and the man disappeared into the shadows. Determined to find him, Claire followed, navigating the darkened train. She stumbled upon a hidden compartment where the man was frantically rifling through a bag. “What are you hiding?” she demanded, stepping closer. “Evidence,” he said, breathless. “I need to get it to the authorities before it's too late. There's a conspiracy…” Just then, the lights blared back on, revealing a chilling sight. Other passengers had gathered, their faces a mix of suspicion and fear. Claire realized the man was not the only one hiding something; each person had their own story, their own secrets. As the train resumed its journey, Claire found herself at a crossroads. Would she expose the truth and unravel the web of deception among the passengers, or would she protect the fragile alliances formed in the face of danger? In that moment, the train roared forward into the night, carrying not just passengers, but the weight of unspoken truths and the promise of revelations yet to come.

Why is this? Who am I? Another answered, not by voice, but somehow He heard. You're My Son, My first creation. What does creation mean? I'll show You around after a little more creating. You're also My only joy. Source shared the very essence of Who He Is, and suddenly, the Son started to learn and comprehend very, truly, extremely fast. He mysteriously understood atomic forces, protons, electrons, neutrons, neutrinos, recurring and changing inorganic and organic molecules. He became ecstatic while gazing at forests, oceans, rivers, lakes, mountains, skies, worlds, suns, stars, galaxies, and universes. He was everywhere with this magnificent One. He asked, “Who are You?” “I Am.” He instantly comprehended His own name and being is Christ. He became aware His Father's very nature is to teach all He knows, and He knows everything. Christ knew He was not separate or different from God, and understood He is an extension of the whole. Christ supremely became as powerful and most importantly as loving as His Creator. Due to the infinite wisdom of I Am, they stopped short of creating life to populate all that is, though they knew exactly what to do when God would say the moment was perfect. Every question the Son asked was instantly answered. However, somewhere, some-when Christ innocently asked a question that was like “What else is there?” God, for the first time, did not answer, because there is nothing else, but Source's perfect creation. Horrifyingly fast, Christ felt fear, a petrifying unknown. Christ designed this universe in a “tiny instant of insanity”, the big bang occurred. He mistakenly thought His communication with God was permanently severed and entered into a dream state of illusion. The first ego was created, a mind that believes it's completely on its own. God knew His Son was dreaming because they were no longer communicating. Source understood He could not enter the dream because there was a risk the dream would become real to Him as well. If God forgot Heaven, Heaven would no longer be. To solve the first and only problem there ever was or ever will be, God's second creation occurred, the Holy Spirit. The Spirit was placed into the dreaming Mind of Christ and was created with the divine ability to view God's perfect Heaven while also viewing the Son's imperfect dream. God's second creation is in every mind alive in the year 2024. So those dreaming of poverty, prison, addiction, depression, and fear can turn to the Voice for God and listen to the truth that none of what they're experiencing is real. Life outside of Heaven is impossible. In that “tiny instant” Christ had forgotten how to laugh, how to love. The Holy Spirit showed Christ the Love of God in His forgotten memory, He chose again and woke up in the Heaven He'd never left. Jesus's name is not Jesus Christ it's Jesus of Nazareth, he understood perfectly he is one with Christ, who is one with God. So are you, so am I. We are all bipolar, the right side of our mind is founded on Spirit and truth, the wrong side is our ego which is based on fear and lies. Fear of what? In the deepest part of our subconsciousness, God. Choose again and know this is our ego's insanity. We are God's first creation, Christ. Jesus told a parable called the Prodigal Son. A king's son took his vast inheritance and squandered it on wine and women, he became impoverished. He thought my father's servants live far better than this, I'll return and beg for forgiveness. Perhaps I can work in a vineyard. The king knew his son was returning and said, “Prepare a feast, my son was lost but now is found.” The thought occurred to me that Christ was the first Prodigal Son. After healing, He must have understood something also previously unknown, what it felt like to be forgiven. Although God doesn't forgive because He sees nothing to forgive, Christ knows what He felt. While being crucified, Jesus said, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” to place into the collective human psyche, the extreme importance of forgiveness. Our mind is very powerful because it's an extension of God's Mind. Our ego invented the lie of Satan to put the enemy “out there” and came up with the falsehood of “fear God.” Why? So we wouldn't look for our true enemy, ourselves, and not depend on our real strength in God. So how do we defeat our ego? Don't feed it. It derives its power from our mind, whenever we're depressed, angry, or fearful we're feeding it. Pray, “Holy Spirit, for my highest good and the highest good of all, grant perfection in listening to the sacred silence between my thoughts.” You'll become enveloped in a deep peace, and your egotistical thoughts will leave. Our ego is like an onion, peel away a layer, and it still looks like an onion. Every time we forgive a perceived wrong, we're peeling away a layer. As promised by God, in an instant our last layer will vanish into the nothingness which it is, and we'll awaken in the Heaven we've never left. Bob.

In the world of known and unknown, a day can't be counted without a single dream flight; A girl there with hope and little steps tries to seek wisdom and light. Nature gives us the best lesson Without notifying us of the reason, If one can find the actual cause Everything in life will make a good job. From waking up in the morning she glimpses the sun Always regular and never miss the fun, From her mother, she learns to be kind Evil and mischief should not be in her mind, Her father, an engineer wise and bright Showed her wonders of logic and light, He helped her to figure out her mind She learned how her brain how was designed. Seeing her garden blooming and smiling Make her spirit jump and twirling, Mango trees, rooted in deep and strong Teach her, where she belongs, Chirping birds made her find her tune Their melody has painted a stunning afternoon, Squirrel taught her amusement and cheer Birds taught her to spread her wings without fear. Sky taught her to have a big heart It is never too late for a fresh new start, Soil taught her to make her base strong Expressing her feeling is never wrong. She learned to listen, understand others, and share And lend a hand, showing she truly cares, The river of time keeps flowing It shows that there is no time for waste, The present will turn into past Enjoy it as it is your last, Through the Mangrove forest 1, she wandered wide Where the wise owls perched, their knowledge and guide, By climbing the Tazing Dong 2 she learned to push herself for the best Which helped her never give up on a sudden test. Worker ants took her boredom away A tireless work to assemble a future day by day, She found her glow to shine in the darkest night Forgiving others is better than a fight, Moon's peaceful glow is painting the sky with grace Told tales of peace and serenity to embrace, She likes to calm her mind with the sound of rain A perfect partner is a cup of chai 3. Stormy nights when the thunder roared and the lighting danced Made her fearless to take every chance, From the busiest city, she set up her inspiration Working hard just to make her creation, She explored her passion without any hesitation Finding her way has no expiration, Each day she takes lessons from a profession She knows knowledge is the key to her liberation. Like farmers plant seeds in the soil Teacher plant knowledge to not make the mind a foil, They help by teaching young mind They are after our parents in our respect line, One can never conceal the truth Lawyers teach, speaking the truth is a ripe fruit, Her grandfather, a freedom fighter teaches her to fight When it comes to rights, Artist Missy taught her how to print a picture Painting can be a mood fixer. By working hard one can go to the moon Achieving Smart Bangladesh is going to be very soon, Farmers grow crops full of patience Success cannot be seen if you are impatience, Police catch the criminals to keep us safe So we can have better days. To show the world current news Journalists work without any excuse, Brother like Tom needs to be everywhere So anyone can get help anywhere, He works for those who are in demand, the poor and the sick The one who has kept back, for one has been kicked, Athlete taught her to break her limit Create a record of every single minute, From next door firefighter, she learned about fear and sacrifice Fear didn't hold her back tonight, They fight for our future and our generation So there can be no more separation, Sacrificing own rest is normal When it comes to saving a life, The doctor gave her every minute So anyone don't lose their inner spirit, They are our only hope And helps us to understand how to cope. She should follow her dreams wherever she goes Let her shine according to her inner glow, She learned to adapt, to go with the flow Navigating life's currents, wherever they'd bestow, It is normal to learn early or late Do the right so you don't end up with a bad fate, It is funny everything was a lesson To help us all to find our passion. Learning from nature and its surrounding is free To learn you don't need to achieve a degree, Look around and feel the world One can't describe its morals in words, Age is just a number When it comes to becoming a moral learner, So let us not be held by our age When it is judged by the calendar page, Let's learn a lesson with an open and pure heart So society can shine by our parts, Let's all sing-song of humanity And follow everything that Mother Nature has taught.

One day, in an increasingly large and crowded metropolis, there was a tiny store, which was specialized in selling books. It was owned by Clara who inherited the store from her parents. The bookstore was the one place that Clara adored with its climate-controlled structure, its old wooden floor, and dusty books all over the place. This place had once been her haven when she faced the worst in her life; thus, she managed it as her parents used to do. There is a story I heard and very much believe to be true: there was a girl named Mia and one day she visited the store. She was perhaps eight years old with big round eyes with the look of a child full of questions and Fabian was rather shy. She strolled around the shelves of the store rubbing the backs of the books with her hand but did not select one. Noticing this, Clara followed the girl and tried to talk to her though the girl seemed surprised and a bit reluctant. “Is there something I can help you find?” Clara asked gently. Mia looked up at her, then down at her shoes. “I'm looking for something… something special.” Clara knelt to the girl's level. “What kind of special thing are you looking for?” The girl paused for a brief moment then cleared her throat and softly said, “My brother is sick. Sick. ” She continued to breathe something ragged before adding, “He's in the hospital, and… I need something to help him feel better. ” Clara could feel a sharp squeeze in her breast at the girl's words. She recalled deep disappointment and hopelessness when a dear person was sick Surrey made a decision that a petty action in such a situation could help Mia to ease her burden She took her by the hand and led her to the corner of the shop where there was a solitary shelf with several sheets of origami paper and a couple of books on how to fold the paper crane. “Yes, it is about a child, a girl, who folded a thousand paper cranes with her own hands for her sick mother”, smiled Clara. Mia shook her head. Clara smiled. It is generally believed that when one has folded one thousand origami cranes, the gods will grant the person a wish; it is a Japanese belief often associated with good health. Mia stared with wide eyes and Clara succeeded in seeing hope in her eyes. “Would it do my brother any good?” Clara nodded. “Maybe it could somehow make him more comfortable and who knows, maybe even magical, don't you think we should try making them together?” Weeks passed and Mia came to the bookstore every day after classes. And she was with Clara in the corner where flannel blankets were wrapped around the books and the bright sheets of paper, making crane upon crane. It was when Clara in the simplicity of showing Mia how to fold a simple bird out of an A4-sized paper that one saw that Clara possessed impeccable dexterity. Days went by and people began to notice what Mia was doing to her co-workers. Gradually, it became customary in the bookstore that Mia and Clara receive paper cranes from those customers who had originally folded them at home, or from people who came into the store to fold paper cranes along with Mia and Clara. Thus, the little bookstore turned into a hopeful place and people of different backgrounds assisted Mia in achieving her dream. A month later, effort was made to fold the last crane, which was the thousandth crane. The two girls properly put the cranes in a big box and the following day, Mia took them to the hospital. When she got to her brother's room, he was confined to bed more weakened than before but the look of joy which was evident in his eyes said a lot when he saw the box of colorful cranes. ‘Here are yours,' Mia said gently. “Each one is a wish for you to get better,” Telling this sad story and looking at the cranes which were made with love and hope her brother cries. He rose and went towards his sister grabbing her hand firmly. For the next few weeks, something quite out of the ordinary started to happen. This time was promising for Mia's brother as he started to recover. The doctors were filled with delight after seeing him fully recover, one even stated that was a very rare occurrence. Mia however was convinced by the other view that there was magic in the cranes, the love that was embraced within each of the pieces. The cranes were suspended from the ceiling of his hospital as a constant reminder to Marge that no matter how bad things are there will always be a tomorrow. And although life is fragile and many times tough, still kindness and love no matter how small can make a world of difference. Years later, Mia and her brother would often come to the bookstore and it has become their source of with full memories of hope and healing. Every time they looked at it, they would regard the strength of a wish, the sister's love, and the mystery of the existence of magic in this world.

I was born barefoot on a jagged rock in a black land with black men. I was born in Nigeria. That's my country. Like the production of a film, each scene is influenced by the actors and ah yes, setting as well. My movie is not any different, or unique in any way. Except that to see the face of each actor, you would have to go behind the scenes, where we were unfurled and free, basking in the consciousness of life and existence. I am no baby or child or boy or man. I'm just a little voice crying in the wilderness, telling of what we have seen, shouting our experience. I am only human. When I and the boys were born, mother bought us no diapers or wipes like the other kids from tomorrow. We were settled with loincloths that would be removed when soiled, to be washed and worn again. We never slept in the rocking cot or stood in the walking trainers. So we had to crawl on fours till our feet were strong enough to walk us. And yes we would fall. Big, heavy falls and yes we would stand up with tears, and we would walk again. When I and the boys were younger. We were bought no toys or action figures like the kids from yesterday. We had to settle for sticks and fingers and stones and rocks. Coming home each day with a bruise or two. Wailing out loud to mother who would bathe and clean our wounds and send us out to bring in some more again. We had no tasty food or snacks or sweets so we would go to Mr. Bello's store, and buy some with our snatch and speed. And his belt would smile at us. And the welts on our backs would tell us that we did the right thing. When the mobile phone came around, I mean within our reach. I and the boys would go to the home of the only boy who had one, and we would sit around him, our eyes fixated upon the wonder in his palm. He would press some buttons and we would see a little man in green fighting against another in blue. He would press some more buttons and we would witness the lady with the white skin take off her clothes, and walk around in her birthday suit and a man would come around, dressed in the same attire. And they would do things together that would spread warm smiles on our faces. When I and the boys were older, we loved em female girls. The ones who would let us take off their dresses, and do things when mother wasn't home. We each had a girl, special to each of us. And things were rough. Yesterday I cried over Maria, as she called at night and told me she was no longer my girl and how she let one of the other boys from tomorrow take off her dress. He gave her money she said. What have I ever given her? I bit on my lip as the tears flowed. Yes, I cried. And tomorrow, I will cry again over Marianne or Sophia. Yesterday, Maestro died. He was felled with bullets by some of the other boys from yesterday. The streets are not too safe, especially for me and the boys. His mother cried so much, deep tears of anguish and resentment. We didn't cry for Maestro, but we may cry for Aluta or Robin or me when we fall tomorrow. I and the boys met social media about a year ago. He introduced himself to us and he was all warm and smiling. But now he seems to bite us in the back with sharp teeth, the earlier friendliness seems all forgotten. He's very scheming. Knows how to cause much havoc, especially amongst me and the boys. I enjoy him sometimes. Most times I would say. He even killed a girl last summer, when he showed everyone her pictures of her hidden regions. I never saw her after that. We all never did. I and the boys take some drinks. It keeps us happy, makes us feel better, makes us forget, all the worries and pains. Fredrick would say with some smoke in his lungs "I like to get high, cos I love the view from up here." And we would all laugh and drink some more. Grades at school don't matter to me and the boys. But it matters much to our parents, so we try to get some good ones, or at least okay ones. Fashion matters a lot, the latest Sneakers, coolest jeans and shirts. The girls love the guys who look good. So we try to keep up with the trend. That's what happened in that scene of my movie and more which you would learn of from others like me. That's what happened when I had hopped aboard older ship. Do you like my movie yet? Maybe you do, maybe you don't. Just stick around and watch some more. Maybe you will see some Experience. When I and the boys are dead, we would pass just like the rest. We made no impact, struck no blow on this generation. That's what some time behind some bars taught me, that's what he told me through the silence and solitude. So now I change. The boys are gone now. It's just me. Now I teach, the little tots. Guide them right, lecture them of good. Let's see what their generation creates. Mine is already fading fast away, as dust in the wind.

A mother's love is a quiet strength, a constant presence that nurtures, protects, and guides. In every family, mothers play an irreplaceable role, balancing countless responsibilities with grace and courage. Being a mother isn't just a job; it's a journey filled with love, sacrifice, and the everyday heroism of caring for others. Being a mother is one of the most challenging and rewarding roles imaginable. Mothers are the ultimate givers, often putting their children's needs above their own without a second thought. They are willing to bear any burden and would gladly take on all the pain to shield their children from hurt. This incredible love and selflessness are truly unmatched. From the moment we are born, our mothers become our first caregivers and protectors. They are there for every milestone, whether it's a scraped knee or a big life decision, offering comfort and guidance. They dress us, feed us, and create a safe space where we can grow and flourish. No one else in our lives thinks and cares for us quite like our mothers do. This is why our mothers deserve our deepest love and respect. They are the silent heroes who work tirelessly, often without recognition, to ensure our happiness and success. Their love is a constant, unwavering force, and their sacrifices are the foundation of everything we are and everything we aspire to be. In the quiet moments and the loud, in the joys and the struggles, mothers stand as pillars of strength and love. They are the unsung heroes whose every day is filled with acts of kindness, sacrifice, and courage. A mother's job is never done; it is a lifelong journey that shapes the lives of their children in profound ways.

A sudden crash jolted me awake. Yells of surprise followed, the sound seemed to have come from the kitchen, perhaps someone broke a plate. I could smell something tempting—fish frying. My belly rumbled in response, I couldn't ignore the lure of that delicious aroma. I slipped out of my makeshift house—the old, dusty store near the family's home. My stealthy steps were silent as I navigated past the garden, careful not to alert the dogs. The clattering of plates being set for dinner can be heard from outside. I settled in front of the kitchen door, a sliver of light slipping through the gap beneath it. The sun had set, and darkness covered everything, except for the comforting glow from the kitchen. As the family enjoyed their meal, I waited, hoping for a crumb or two. Though I wasn't adopted by them, I reside in this family's abandoned store. I'm just a stray—one of the many cats wandering the neighborhood in search of food. My days were spent hunting rats and scavenging garbage bins. When hunting failed, I'd sneak into houses and swipe whatever scraps I could find. Humans almost never greeted me warmly. They can be cruel. All I wanted was to fill my belly but they'd chased me away with brooms and slippers. I learned that leftovers from the kitchen sink would get me in less trouble than the more tempting food on the dining table. Yet, occasionally, the allure of the table's offerings was too strong, and I would risk a snatch. Once, a human caught me stealing a chicken leg. It was smaller than most adults but bigger than the little ones who screamed and chased me. Expecting a slipper to fly my way, I darted out of the house. But when I returned later that evening, I was met with an unexpected kindness. Instead of scolding, it offered me food from a bowl. It was the same food they gave to the dogs. It had a meaty aroma with faint traces of chicken. The dogs in this household lived in luxury, with humans going through the trouble of drying mashed chicken and shaping it into small circles for them. The family had finished eating, and I heard them preparing food for the dogs. The clinking of metal bowls and the sound of kibble being poured made me drool a bit. The kitchen door creaked open, a normal-sized human appeared—it was the mother. It wore its outdoor slippers and its gaze fell on me. Our eyes met briefly before it said sharply, “Why are you here, filthy parasite? Go away!” Its words stung. It's true my actions are considered parasitic as I, a stranger, welcomed myself in this household and live off a family who isn't mine. Yet, being likened to the ticks biting my fur made me pity and disgust myself. I scurried away, hiding behind the old outdoor restroom close enough to the kitchen for its light to reach. After the mother fed the dogs, it glared at me and warned me not to eat the dogs' food. I'm not foolish to try—those dogs were eight times my size. They'd rip me apart if I attempted to steal their food. Rain began to fall, the gentle drizzle prompted the mother to return inside. As the doors closed, I was left in the darkness. I slipped inside the restroom for shelter. The rain quickly picked up, and in the silence, I could only hear the dogs' loud munching and the increasing pitter-patter of rain on the stones. If the rain continued, it would be a cold night. I needed to get back to the shack or risk staying in the restroom till it stops. As I was about to leave, the kitchen door swung open again. A bright light spilled out, and I saw a silhouette, smaller than that of the mother—it was the little human. It had a bowl in its hand. “Oh good, you're still here!” it said with a hint of concern. It crouched down and dumped a small pile of fish bones near me. “Luckily, Mother didn't give these to the dogs,” it said, “I left a bit of meat on mine for you.” Some of the bones had bits of meat, not much, but enough. "Better eat that before the rain pours down," it said, then closed the door. The fish bones lacked the aroma of the cooked fish I had smelled earlier, not even close to the faint scent of the dogs' food. They barely had any meat and weren't very appetizing. But food is food; one must eat whatever they can to avoid starving. With the rain pouring down harder, I quickly gathered the fish bones and dashed back to the shack, each step hurried by the increasing intensity of the storm. Once I had transferred all the fish bones to the shack, I called to wake my young ones. They responded with their tiny voices. I checked on them, licking their fur as they nibbled on their meal. Afterward, I cleaned myself, my fur wet from the rain. The storm grew louder, a heavy downpour that seemed endless. After my little ones had finished their meal, I curled up with them, seeking warmth amidst the pile of old fabrics. The rain continued to rage outside, but we were safe for now. We survived another night, with bellies barely full, huddled together in our small refuge.

Power of hope For I will achieve these I need enough knowledge, force, energy and hope. In this way I am going to pass the exam at university of diplomacy. So the main subject of the enterence exam is English. Hence my mother took me tutor to learn English. My teacher was very kind person. I appreciated that person very much. At first I am not deal with these subject . Because it was my first attempt .in our study center have had a lot of facilities for wise student. For intense: they used to win dessert, books, money and other gifts. When I participated lesson at first time, one student who the smartest of group was legend and I green envious to her. Because she was also won present . And spirit fell for I had not ability as her. Days , week and month alike passed. Soon my teacher understand my condition. And she asked me not leave after the lesson. Then she said " xolida ! If I am not mistaken I know that you have lack of confidence and hope . Because of Lily who the smartest of the group. But when she came as a newcomer, she couldn't win or understand anything for 4 month . But she tried to do it very hard, and asked me amount of question. You can also do it." Then she told me that "I believe you" and it was inspired me most. After that I headed to home. Then I told to myself "even if I met with billion obstacle on my way , I would defeat all of them. And it was my true decision. After I arrived home, I started read my my book and I corrected my fault from the last test. Then I was also take extra lesson an online. Finally I improved my knowledge day by day. But slowly a few problem came to my life. The first was , one day my relatives visited our house for my birthday. But i was doing my homework quietly on the corner. Then they called me and said "why are you choose this difficult way ? What you expect from yourself ? You small, young and weak .you cannot do anything" and I felt disappointment for their rude word. After they left our house, I stared at one point upsetly for a while. And my my mother Saw my state. She told me " you should don't care about their rudeness. Don't forget from age 15 to 23 , the age where you meet with a lot of toxic and temporary people . They just say nonsense. Inspite of you should show off your ability to them". And these phrases helped me for put me such good mood. Then these night I didn't sleep and I did my object. After one week , we wrote essay to the teacher with our tutor student. Soon our teacher marked our essay . Then she informed that my essay was the best writing. And she gave bar of chocolate as a present. It was very simple but my first steep forward vivid Future. And I went to my home happily. So quickly I also became the more knowledgeable of the group. And I decided to register in multi level test exam . The more I felt strong , many people hated me. It seems also simple things to me . One day I slept while I was doing my homework. Because I exhausted at that time. However when I woke early , I couldn't my hands as lack of strength. Besides that my back was hurting . Then my mother took me a doctor. He said to me "you need to rest, if not it may lead you to bad consequences". However I cried after heard these, and I told him about my all plan , that is I said that I had to prepare for exam and that I had to go to tutor too . But he didn't listen to me and recommended me to get treatment in hospital. I used to study at night in hospital kitchen every day. So that no one would know. But then hospital chef found out me and brought a cup of coffee. Then she said " your hard working behavior take me aback. Drink it it may give you refreshing." I became glad and said thanks to her. So it happened every day until I left here. After that final day of treatment, my mother took me home. Next day I else went to tutor for check my all test. And it showed good result. But there were also a few mistake too. I felt nervous. But I didn't give up. Suddenly in exam day, I woke up with unbearable headache. Out of fear my mother almost cancelled my exam. However I didn't want it. Thus I took a medicine and went forward exam hall. All the test seemed very easy to me. As I prepared beforehand. After I did all the test . I left exam hall . My mom waited for me around 4 hours impatiently out of exam hall branch. And asked me to about exam. I told her about everything on the car, while we were going to home after one month exam result have been announced and I passed the exam. We were very happy, glad and merry. My life wasn't ended here whatever I have achieved, I did with my own personality, strength and hope . I have had billion reason to complain. however I didn't pay attention to them. They called me child, young and weak . But I proved that I can do it . And my strenge , hope is not lost yet. Despite of trouble , fell over that I met . I stood up and tired to do it. If people are still alive, they can do whatever they want inspite of any obstacle.

What drives a person crazy? What differentiates a crazy person from a sane one? I can't define it, but I see a thin line between insanity & consciousness, making it hard to distinguish at times. Even the "crazy" claim they're sane. Psychiatry labels psychiatric patients as sane but flawed due to brain function issues. Yet, I feel like a spectacle for those around me. I'm not crazy I'm just sick. I looked up from my notes to see whispers & glances directed at me. Dirk loves to philosophize, & while his ideas annoy me, I oddly agree with some. "How do they let this psycho exist in the university?!” I overheard. They view me as the odd one, Leo or as my father called me, the mental hospital's owner. I fled to engineering to escape the chaos. Ironically, I have dissociative identity disorder (DID), with seven personalities. Each has its voice & story, explaining their stares. My father keeps me out of the hospital, dosing me with sedatives to manage my personality. I hear them all, yet I don't know who the real me is. I mostly stay in control, except when Dirk's philosophy sneaks in or Jack shows up during bullying. As I approached my locker, I found a letter. I hesitated to open it until I saw the sender: Jana, my twin sister, in an asylum. Is insanity hereditary? I ponder our mother's dementia & my disorder. I finally opened the letter, only to find a piece of wood shaped like an X .tell me again how she sent it from the mental asylum. Then I heard the café news about a patient escaping: Jana Oris! This might explain her message. I'd never seen her as crazy; she was brilliant—until she became uncontrollably agitated & vanished for days. My father had tested her for mental issues, & that news hit hard. If she's crazy, can I trust anyone? At home, I examined the letter: “Cd Zkved Mrebm, Wsxrd, Nyxd doky Ieb Wonsmkdsyx.” The “X” was the key, representing ten. William, my analytical side, easily recognized it as Caesar's cipher. “The key tells how many letters to shift.” He explained the process, & I impatiently awaited the results. Soon, the message formed“St. Paul's Church, midnight, do not take your medication.” Why not take my meds? "idiot, there's another card!” William pointed out. I pulled it from the envelope, finding an old newspaper with headlines about hidden experiments & madness drugs. The date? 2004 I grabbed the letter again, trying to connect this newspaper with the encrypted message. Something felt off. Did Jana discover something dangerous, & Dad accused her of being crazy? Would he send her to an asylum for that reason? What about my medications? Is there something wrong with it? This is Illogical! Thoughts crashed in my mind. I placed the paper on the desk & noticed large writing on the back of the newspaper, which I initially thought was scribbles. My eyes widened at the sentence, “You were not sick.” I stepped away, breathing heavily. Is she honest? Not crazy? What if the medications caused my illness? Am I real, or just a personality created by the disease? Am I really sick? I sighed violently, feeling like crying for the first time since crying had left me. Everything will become clear tonight! When midnight arrived, I was in church until I heard her around from the corner. “I know you have questions,” she began. I shot back without sitting down, "What's the truth? You & my dad? Am I sick?! "Not your dad!" she sighed. I stared as she revealed a piece of paper. “We were adopted after our mother died in his hospital.” My features froze staring at the paper & my dad's signature. Your illness is not normal. It's from medications our father gave you for experiments.” Anger & shock surged inside me. “Do you have proof? That newspaper says there will be an investigation! How do I know this isn't another delusion?” Jana pulled out a stack of papers. “It's all here! I've searched for the truth.”The more I read, the more shocked I became. Details on the experiments & drugs made, the world collapse around me. Different personalities fought for control, all of them. Their voices clashed in my head, laughter mixed with screams, while I squatted, hugging my shoulders., begging to calm down, but Jana watched anxiously. As I trembled, she held me tight despite Jack's resistance. “Leo, I'm here. I won't leave you, everything will be ok! Don't be afraid!”I began to cry while she whispered reassurances. For the first time, I felt safe, knowing I wasn't alone. “I'm here for you, brother. We'll heal together. You're stronger than you think” Her words reignited hope within me. I felt the weight of my suffering lighten, replaced with determination to reclaim my life. With Jana by my side, we'll face what's coming. The road won't be easy, my dad, confronting him, informing the police. But together, piece by piece. As dawn broke, light crept through the church windows, illuminating our path. Embracing each other, we stepped out of the shadows, ready to face a hopeful but dangerous future.

Ever since I was a little brat with pigtails, art has always fascinated me. My mother said I would draw on every surface I could find—from the cupboards to the dressers, to the TV screen. If it could be scribbled on, my tiny baby hands, barely able to hold a crayon, were all over it. When I finally moved on to actual paper, I would get lost in the worlds I created, inventing stories for the characters I drew. By middle school, I was the kid in the back of the class, sketching away to my heart's content. I remember one time, a classmate asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. Having no interests besides drawing, I told them I had no idea. They suggested, “What about those people who draw cartoons? You draw a lot, and you're good at it!” That comment stuck with me. When I got home, I went straight to our old Dell computer and looked up "people who draw cartoons," and according to Google, they were called "animators." Maybe it was the satisfaction of someone besides my mom acknowledging my work, or perhaps it was the realization that this could be an actual career, but I became fixated. I imagined myself working at a big animation company, sipping on my drink while doing what I loved most. Little me made it her mission to become an animator one day. I spent countless hours researching and watching tutorials on how to improve my art. My sketch pad was always with me, constantly trying to get better. But there was something missing. Every animation tutorial I watched featured a “drawing tablet.” Seeing this, little me wanted one desperately, but I knew I couldn't ask my mom for it. She was already working two jobs to support me and my three other siblings. I didn't want to burden her any further. So, I found ways to earn the money myself. I offered my drawing services to my classmates in exchange for cash, knocked on neighbors' doors to walk their dogs, and did chores for other people—I did everything I could to raise the money. Every peso I saved felt like a step closer to my dream. I remember the thrill of holding a crisp bill in my hand after walking Mrs. Garcia's dog for a week straight. It felt like victory, and I was convinced that nothing could stop me. My mom noticed my extra energy. She never asked why, but I could see the pride in her eyes every time I showed her the little money I had saved, telling her it was for my future. A couple of weeks went by, and my piggy bank grew heavier. I could barely contain my excitement when I finally had enough to buy the drawing tablet. I remember running to my mom, showing her the money I had saved. Just when I thought I was about to hold the tablet in my hands, life took an unexpected turn. My grandma fell seriously ill, and suddenly, every bit of money we had became crucial. Without hesitation, I offered my savings to help with her medical expenses. My mom was reluctant to accept it, knowing how much I had worked for it, but I insisted. My dream could wait; my grandma's health couldn't. The months that followed were tough. We watched over grandma, praying for her recovery. By some miracle, she got better, and we were all so relieved. Though my dream of owning a drawing tablet seemed further away, my heart was full knowing my Nana was okay and I had helped in a small way. When Christmas rolled around, I didn't expect much. We had spent so much on the hospital bills, I knew there wasn't much left for presents. But on Christmas morning, as we gathered around the tree, my mom handed me a box wrapped in bright red paper. I slowly unwrapped the gift, my hands trembling. I couldn't believe it—inside was the drawing tablet! With tears in my eyes, I looked up at my mom. She smiled and told me she had taken on extra shifts at work to buy it. That moment was pure magic. I hugged my mom tightly, overwhelmed with gratitude. She had always been my biggest supporter, and this was the greatest gift she could have given me. I plugged in the tablet immediately; the feel of the stylus in my hand just felt so right. My imagination had found a new playground. I was practically glued to my tablet, practicing my technique every day. As my art improved, so did my confidence. So, I decided to start sharing my work online, making connections with other artists and like-minded people. High school came and went, and I had my sights set on animation school. Although the road wasn't easy, I was determined. Today, as I sit in my college dorm room, going to my dream school, I often think back to those early days. The determination, the hard work, and the belief that I could make it all seemed like a distant dream. But it was real, and it was mine. I dedicate everything I have achieved and will achieve to my mom. My journey from a little brat with pigtails drawing on cupboards to a budding animator has been filled with challenges and triumphs, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Aisha sat silently in her wheelchair, observing the new garden that the hospital had put in place a few days ago. She normally wasn't the type to be outside. Her medical condition limited her in ways she didn't want to be reminded of. She was barely allowed to leave her hospital room. Never saw the need to. She was inured to this constant loneliness. But for some reason, ever since her grandmother visited her an hour ago, she couldn't stop thinking of what she said. "The nurses have been talking about it all day. There'll be a light rain shower this afternoon.” “Oh,” Aisha said unenthusiastically, picking at her eggs and toast, wondering what was so special about a minute of rain. Sure, the city they were in rarely saw rainfall, but what excitement would that bring her? She'd be stuck inside, anyway. “Do you remember what I said before about summer rain? The most unexpected things happen during it. I know it's not something you'd normally be interested in, but I think you might regret not going out to see it today." She wasn't interested at all. But she nodded slowly, fixing her crooked hijab, promising to go later that afternoon. And so she sat there in the garden, bored out of her mind, counting the petals on each flower she held. She waved goodbye to her favorite nurse, Fatuma, who accepted her offering of a white tulip, assuring her that she'd come to see her again tomorrow morning. Aisha shook her hand, said goodbye again, and turned her attention back to the garden. She was on her fifth flower (yellow daisies, her favorite) when she felt the presence of someone near her. She looked up to see a little Somali girl in a yellow hijab staring at her. Wearing a white dress with little dots and the most adorable flower crown on her head (obviously made by herself as it was almost close to unraveling), Aisha couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia hit her. It was like going back in time to her younger, carefree self. A time when she didn't have routine doctor visits. When she wasn't restricted to staying inside most of the day. At first, Aisha thought that she was the daughter of another patient, maybe a lost visitor. But seeing the hospital band on her wrist, she could tell without asking that this little girl also was like her; young and confined to the rules of this hospital. "Hello," Aisha said to the little girl, jumping back in surprise when the girl quickly walked up to her. The little girl clumsily placed the flower crown that she had on her head onto Aisha's. "My mom said that this flower crown is magical," the girl whispered, taking Aisha's hand and trying to get her out of her wheelchair. Aisha said softly to the little girl, “I can't get out of this wheelchair or I'll fall. But your flowers are magical, aren't they? Maybe they'll help me in the future.” The little girl's face, which at first was sad, turned joyful hearing those last words, and she took Aisha's hand again and rambled on about flowers with no breaks. She switched the conversation to comparing their hijabs, calling Aisha a 'princess' as her hijab was more flowy and pink. Though she was just a little girl, she was very expressive, imaginative, and whimsical. A strange feeling settled in Aisha's throat as she kept speaking to the little girl. Again she felt reminiscent of her childhood self who never let her illness affect her, no matter how bad the day was. As Aisha was busy fixing the flower crown, adding extra flowers to make it fuller, the phenomenon that her grandmother told her about in the morning arrived. Splat! The sun was still out, the clouds full and the sky a bright blue. The first drop of summer rain hit the ground near Aisha and the little girl. Dropping her flowers in excitement, the girl clapped her hands happily, shouting, “It's raining! It's raining!” Was there ever a person that looked happier than her today? In such a sad environment, not even knowing what brought the girl to this hospital, Aisha felt her cheeks getting wet. But the rain had stopped? The ground was already clearing up. So where was this water coming from? She touched her eyes and felt shocked that she had been crying. She didn't know why. She hadn't cried since her 13th birthday when she was told that she would be remaining in this hospital for an unknown amount of time. Maybe it was because this little girl gave her a short feeling of happiness and hope. Maybe it was because her grandmother was right? Had she not gone outside to see the quick afternoon rainfall, she'd never have met this little girl who, unlike herself, kept on despite the many obstacles that she likely was facing. Aisha knew for sure that this beautiful girl with the bright yellow hijab and flower crown was the true summer rain. A serendipitous appearance in her darkening, closed-up world. Sudden, short, and unexpected. But incredibly beautiful.

Anxious days It was one of the day of the week but it was not ordinary as it seems. It was the day which decides my whole life. I was nervous as hell but my parents and my grandmother were more anxious compared to me. They treated me as I was going to battlefield and checked me out to see If I am alright and ready to fight. As you might be wondering what I am talking about, so let me tell you that It was the university entrance exam which I prepared my whole to get accepted. Therefore, My mom cooked me the most delicious foods ever and made sure that I am full. My father drove me to a place where the exam held and my granny accompanied us. At that time I literally wanted to cry seeing their support all the time towards me. They always gave me a hand when I need in whatever situation without resisting. So, with the thought of being lucky in the world and knowing that they are here to aid me, I proudly headed to exam place to take tests. When I was going into test room, I was stopped by security guards to check If have any illegal things or cheating papers which did not bothered me since I know I will never do such kind of things. After all of that investigating things, finally I was in my seat waiting for the test begin. The test hall was huge and full with amount of people whom are strangers to me also every corner of the hall has security cameras and doing live so that parents or relatives of the test taker can see what they are doing. But I was not sure that my parents and my granny could find me from this big place apart from that my seat was situated in corner which is hard for cameras to capture me. As I was looking around the room, suddenly the announcer announced the start of the test. I was feeling nervous, anxious, worried, scared, a little bit confident too, It was the moment that I can not describe with word. I was ambivalent about my feelings but still tried to stay calm and focus on test only. Exam takers distributed the test papers, there was only 90 test questions which I should answer. I opened the test paper and started to answer them one by one, I left the most difficult ones at the end and solved the easy ones at first. There was a questions that I had no idea what it was but still attempted to tackle. It took me one hour and thirty minutes to finish the test then I rechecked my answers and handed it over to exam taker. I was feeling nervous as always while heading outside, there were so many going in my mind. I was outside without knowing and started to look for my parents and granny. After a few minutes I found them sitting in a bench, after sawing me they hugged me and told me “how was it”, I could not say no more words than “Not bad”. They told me that they were watching me from from the beginning in live and I was shocked to know. Then, my father told me “why did you came out early, they were still thirty minutes left” and so on, I was questioned by everyone even strangers that was the most tiring day ever…. We came home, only thing left was looking for the results to be out, these days looked forever to finish. Not only me but everyone was being impatient, my father even told me If you can not enter there, do not worry, I will solve it by giving money. One day when I was crying in living room where few people come, thinking what If I can not enter, my mom found me and told me “do not cry, everything will be okay”, I was so touched at that time and cried more. My granny told me “I believe in you and your knowledge and I am pretty sure you will achieve your dream so be happy”…. It was the day which results will come out, I waited until late at night and lost the hope when I did not get answers so I slept while crying again. In the morning when I woke up I saw everyone smiling and I was so confused what was going on. Everyone came and congratulated me that was when my granny told me that I got accepted to university. I said “How” and they told me there were a problem with system so we did not get the results on time instead it came out very late, the reason they did not told me that I was sleeping. After hearing it, I was over the moon and can not believe in my eyes, I literally shouted “YESSSSSSSSSSSSS”. After that we held a party and I enjoyed the company of my dear family. That was the time when I realized that there is nothing better than a family support and your hard work, in the end they will all pay. So I have never and ever regretted my sleepless nights and hard work. It was one of the best day of my life which I will never forget. This is true story of me, I hope it is enough to motivate you to accomplish your dreams and never stop working on yourself. Do not forget without sacrificing one thing you can not achieve other one.

Some things remind us of some things. For example, a perfume reminds you of a woman. A song suddenly turns into a memory. Sharp objects remind some people of wounds. A daughter always reminds you of her mother. You never know what will remind whom or where. On the night of December 13, in 2023, a man was walking home. When he compulsorily heard the voices that blending into the night he was faced with two choices. I say "compulsorily" because hearing is an act you cannot control. For example, if you don't want to see, you close your eyes, if you don't want to smell, you hold your nose, but even when you close your ears, you have to hear some sounds, and some sounds remind you of some things. In another branch of the universe, the man followed gunshots and screams. At 02:37, the man's body was found, thanks to the inform of the neighbors. It is unknown why and by whom the fight started. Police thinks it was because members of two hostile peoples came face to face in this country. Are they the guilty ones in this story? The answer is optional. Some people have been whispered to hate some people since childhood. Some people mix prejudice into the food their children eat and the water their children drink. The terrifying part is that, unlike stereotypes, prejudices can arise out of nowhere. If you want to see such people, you can go to countries where there are many wars. But why would you want to? Somewhere in the world, some children are raised like this. Anyway, this has no relevance to our story. The problem is the neighbor who reported the incident. The neighbor was first affected by the bystander effect. In other words, she remained a spectator to the event. Even if she hadn't stayed, I don't think she would have been able to save the man. When she called the cops, the fight has already been over and the man injured. However, she should have called while the fight was going on. Because she was confused about the incident and partly because of her old age, she forgot call her son and tell to pick up an acquaintance from the airport. She obliged to give the news a little later. The passenger waited at the airport exit because the neighbor's son left half an hour later than he was supposed to. Unluckily, this passenger was in intense depression for a long time, and when the man did not arrive in the cold weather, he decided to leave everything and commit suicide. We cannot condemn him. Depression is like that. Everything in your soul turns into poison, without knowing from your essence. Those types of people wouldn't care if the apocalypse broke, but if their nails were broken, they would go crazy. And the man had made him wait in the cold weather for almost 30 minutes. For someone with depression, 30 minutes in cold weather. Can you estimate? I mean, the man's suicide was not unexpected. After a while, he was found dead next to one of the buildings. It is said that he jumped from the roof. But whether he died or not is irrelevant. The point was that the man did not collect his bag from the baggage claim area. Fortunately, the man's bag was almost identical to the bag of an artificial intelligence engineer who entered the country that evening. In her haste, the woman accidentally took the wrong bag, leaving behind a computer containing crucial work that could have prevented the artificial intelligence winter of the period. When she realized this and went back to get the bag, she had already been in a car accident. Of course, this is what happens if she goes sleepless for days to make this innovation. Those smart people always have stupid habits. We must admit that unlike humans, algorithms are immortal. Nothing happened to the coding the woman wrote. But no one would find this file among algorithms that are almost as numerous as "Mersenne" numbers. If she had not died, this artificial intelligence would have developed 3 years later, and 8 months after its development, it would have created a global problem due to business people eager to be the first. Fortunately, none of this happened. Because, in this branch of the universe, in our story, the man ignored the voices and walked straight home. I've always envied people who can't hear even if they don't have a problem with their ears, or can't see even if they don't have a problem with their eyes. Our man was one of them.

She wails on the ground, grasping for breath between each hiccup. The entire earth seems to be spinning while simultaneously everything is completely still, even the air. She can't tell if she is still crying anymore, the tears on her cheeks now a permanent part of her face. She looks around for the hundredth time, desperate for some kind of sign that she deserves to live, that it isn't her time to go yet, that there has been a reason behind her agony all along…but there's nothing in the silence. No voice from the sky comes to remind her that her life is worth living, no inspiring quote is carved into any of the trees poles – there's no answer, no explanation to everything she's been through. What's the point of suffering if it never ends up getting better? If all you get from it is unhealable trauma and a complete loss of meaning, isn't it better to end it before you burry yourself even deeper into the never-ending darkness? Isn't death more merciful than drowning in loneliness and self-torment for an eternity? Her breathing becomes rapid, she can't tell if she's on the verge of a panic attack or if she's having a stroke, but it doesn't matter anymore. Anything that brings her closer to death is welcomed. Her upper eyelids are falling down by themselves and this time, she doesn't fight them. She lets them close, allows her mind to go elsewhere, to a place where misery isn't all that there is… ‘'Caitlin! Caitlin!'' her best friend, George, is calling her name from the other side of the fence. He's still too short to reach the top of it, but he's still trying, even if he knows there's no possibility for him to do so. His dark brown hair is all around the place, his eyes big and curious, thrilled for whatever the day has ahead. Is this a memory? Or is this what death is like, going back to the times you could experience genuine happiness? ‘'George!'' she screams, a giant smile appearing on her face immediately. ‘'Open the door!'' ‘'Oh right, yes, of course.'' At first she can't clearly remember where their door was, but it only takes her a couple of seconds to find it. She doesn't hesitate in opening it, letting George in who instantly runs up to her and hugs her tighter than anyone has in the past ten years. His body feels fragile, like she could break him in half if she uses more strength. She breathes in his scent – chocolate and milk and childhood joy, and tries to memorize it forever this time. Soft pieces of his hair are brushing the top layer of her skin, goosebumps emerging all over her arms. She closes her eyes, holding tightly onto him, onto his scent and laugh, onto the rate of his heart and the delight his presence brings back in her… Her eyes open back to the reality she tried so persistently to escape from. However, this time breathing feels easier rather than an endless task you have to commit to if you want to survive. In lieu of the usual coldness and tightness that surround her stomach, warmth and giddiness have come along – a feeling she last remembers to have felt back when she was a kid. She doesn't even feel when her face moves from a frown to a smile, but it's so genuine she doesn't try changing it. Leaves and dirt are stuck in her hair, but she finds it rather funny than infuriating like she would have just an hour ago. The sun is creeping in through the tree's crowns, embracing Caitlin's body in a spellbinding hug, warming the surface of her skin. Her mind is buzzing with the excitement of seeing her childhood best friend again, with the emotions that doing so brought back in her – the same ones she thought she'll never have the chance to feel again. As the memory of her tears is disappearing from both her face and mind, all she can think about is There's not a single life not worth of living up until the end.

August. There are only a few days left until the announcement of the entrance exam results. A thousand different thoughts filled Lola's mind. This is the second time she is applying to the university. Because of this, her heart was restless, and her anxiety gave her no peace. The thought "I must have passed..." kept running through her mind. If a well-educated girl graduates from school, suitors will immediately line up at her door. Nafisa, by nature a difficult person like her sister, could not openly tell her parents about her wishes and plans. The suitors who came to ask for her hand were not turned away. Last week, a close friend of her father came to ask for her hand on behalf of his son. This time, Holmat's decision was firm: "Daughter, I liked the guests who came for dinner. If you are not accepted, if you fail again, you will be married..." After seeing the results of the exam, it was as if ice water had been poured over the girl's head. In the middle of autumn, the sound of the Bridal Chorus was heard from Nafisa's house...