Blog

The classroom smelled of chalk dust and lemon polish, but beneath it clung the metallic tang of fear. Eight-year-old Timothy sat rigid in the third row, knuckles white around his pencil. Sister Agnes loomed at the blackboard, veil stark as a blade, scrawling in furious loops: GOD IS LOVE . Timothy’s hand trembled as it rose. “Timothy?” Her voice cut like a ruler across knuckles. “Sister…” His throat clicked. “Yesterday, Jericho. God said kill everyone . Men. Women. Little kid

Lila, a young woman with a newfound spring in her step, walked confidently up the stone path to Master Po’s temple, her sneakers scuffing...

Reverend Jonathan Hale stood at the pulpit of Pinewood Baptist Church, his voice booming through the small sanctuary. His sermons were...

In a quiet suburban town nestled between rolling hills and whispering pines, there lived a young boy named Christopher. From the tender...

The rain is coming down hard as I sit in a comfortable chair, relaxed after a morning of pickleball. I marinate in the contentment and...

In the quiet glow of a late afternoon sun filtering through lace curtains, James sat in his weathered armchair, cradling his newborn...