This is a work in progress, so there are some gaps. Thanks to Writers Digest for helping to get my creative juices flowing! THE LIGHT OF AMORTH Goodnight Hall was already fragile. Now, it
was a steaming heap of broken banisters, crushed concrete, and the charred
remains of the delicate double doors. Georgina Fosterday stood shouting at the
children looking down at her for answers. “There’s nothing to see here,
children. Go back to your classes.” She waved her wand in front of her and the
rubble glistened lightly, lifted and formed a temporary wall. “Who’s the one responsible,” asked Obdigan.
“That was pretty powerful.” “Pretty powerful?” she responded. “What’s
missing?” Obdigan scanned over the wreckage. “Umm…” “Where are we, Obdigan?” “Goodnight Hall.” “And what do we keep in Goodnight Hall?” He paused and moved closer to the rubble. “Watch your step, Obdigan!” Obdigan froze, his foot poised over a twisted
knot of seraphic metal and human flesh. “Dear gods,” he whispered. “Is that a-” “Yes.” “I kn…
My daughter just turned three today. A bittersweet moment, to say the least.
We all get older, and with age we have more responsibility. We start to realize our many potentials: potential to do good, potential to think, to reason, to live with each other. It is these responsibilities that mould us and shape us into the adults we'll be. I listen to the podcasts of a psychology professor who does an excellent job of explaining the philosophy of Piaget. People must learn to be good to one another. And, guess what, it starts at home.
After the party was all said and done, and the other three-year olds left with their parents, my daughter cuddled up on the couch with her nana, and the two took a nap, and I started to think about my role. I'm writing now while they sleep on the couch. And, while they sleep I wonder if I'm doing the right thing by her.
Then, I started wondering what I meant by "the right thing." Kant, one of my idols, believed there must be a moral impe…
Once I speculated that death was a void, a bleak blackness spread before us eternally. But, the assumption there is that we remain conscious in death in order to perceive of the blackness. Then, I presumed that consciousness itself must also die, but if that was the case, it must also have a beginning, and that beginning must be born from blackness, from nothingness. However, I wound up travelling down this rabbit hole that took me to understanding that, since energy and matter can neither be created nor destroyed, consciousness must be constantly a part of our existence, collectively or otherwise.
That is why I am no longer an atheist.
However, I do not believe in God.
“You seem to be recovering, Dr Amos.”
I reclined in my hospital gown, staring at the voice of my caretaker, Demi Housieaux. My bandages had slipped across my eyes, and the most comfortable position I could be in required that I lay semiretired on my back. The pressure behind my eyes felt enough to make them burst.