Autobiography
The Storm That Asked for Forgiveness
A storm ravaged the coast, tearing homes and trees from their foundations. But as dawn arrived, the storm lingered instead of dispersing. Its winds softened, and the clouds trembled as if ashamed. When a young girl approached the shoreline, she heard a faint whisper woven into the breeze: “I am sorry.” She stepped closer, unafraid. The storm explained that it had not meant to destroy—that sometimes nature loses control, overwhelmed by its own power. The girl placed her hand on the air, feeling the storm shudder. She forgave it, not because the destruction was small, but because remorse was real. As she spoke, the storm dissolved into a gentle rainfall, watering the broken land it had harmed. Soon, new flowers sprouted along the coast, nourished by remorse turned into renewal.
By GoldenSpeech4 months ago in Chapters
The Whispering Bridge
Locals said the bridge whispered your fears back at you when you tried to cross it. Many avoided it. But one night, she stepped onto it during a storm. The whispers grew louder, then gentler, then silent. When she reached the other side, she knew that fear fades only when walked through.
By GoldenSpeech4 months ago in Chapters
Memoir | Machiavelli | Part VI of VI
My mentor’s advice to take on volunteer responsibilities while I was an office secretary for a director and desk officers paid off. When one of the desk officers was promoted, he offered me the position of his office secretary. With the approval of the Human Resources Division, I transitioned to his new office, known as the “Front Office,” where top executives worked. I was suddenly in a more prestigious setting, alongside our bureau’s other executive office secretaries who were often unfriendly and seemed to lack a strong work ethic. Thankfully, an advisor guided me in developing resilience to adapt to this new environment.
By Mia Z. Edwards4 months ago in Chapters
The Cloud That Refused to Rain
A single dark cloud hovered over a drought-stricken village, trembling but refusing to break. People cursed it until they learned the truth: if it rained then, the cracked earth would shatter. So they softened the soil, and only then did the cloud let go. Sometimes restraint is the purest form of care.
By GoldenSpeech4 months ago in Chapters
The Shadow That Refused to Follow
A woman noticed one morning that her shadow stood still while she walked away. It did not cling, did not mimic. Instead, it stretched toward the mountains as if seeking its own path. She chased it at first, terrified. But when she reached the mountain’s foot, her shadow embraced her gently, merging once more. She had learned: even darkness needs freedom sometimes.
By GoldenSpeech4 months ago in Chapters
The Man Who Counted Sunsets
Every evening, he sat by the shore with a notebook, marking each sunset with a small circle. People mocked him—why count something that always returns? But he continued, observing the tiny differences in color, the angle of light, the emotion of the sky. One day a traveler asked him why he did it. He answered, “I don’t count sunsets—I count the versions of myself that watch them.” And as the sun dropped below the horizon, he realized he had become someone new again.
By GoldenSpeech4 months ago in Chapters
Memoir | Newspapers | Part VI of VI
I was working with Paul Miller, a desk officer who asked me to be his office secretary in the new bureau where he was promoted to work at once. He moved swiftly to ensure that I was approved to work with him. The Department of Prominence’s Human Resources Office re-assigned me to move forward in my new position with Miller. In this bureau, I met several office secretaries.
By Mia Z. Edwards4 months ago in Chapters
