I wanted him dead but my merciful impression made an impression of me in people’s eyes. Now they respect me more than they did earlier.
Arpit
She was walking down the street and saw a wombat, dying. It’s claws were shaking in the air. She wondered if she could help it. It seemed like a difficult thing to do but she wanted to make the effort. She slowly opened her backpack and approached the struggling creature.
Alexandria Hathaway
IS THIS THE ONLY WORD THEY KNOW?! I’ve tried to write about being merciful, but in truth, I don’t really believe in the word any more. I feel it in me all the time, it’s true, but when do I ever see it in others?
Joe
Behind the glass wall, eyes looked at me. Bright, shining, tearful eyes. I crouch in my corner and don’t look out. They can’t give me anything with their abstract mercy. They imagine their feelings penetrate and bask me in a warm glow. I feel nothing.
I did wrong, and I know that.
So why am I expecting anything different? I can’t even move, for godsake. Sitting here on the floor, like some pitiful animal doomed to die.
That’s what I am, isn’t it?
There’s no way anyone would want to help me, to even try to be kind. Not after what I’ve done.
no god should have that much control
and they were never merciful
a gladiator’s death
thumbs down
He was not merciful, he was cruel, and in the end she realized that she shouldn’t have trusted his words of love because he never loved her.
organic box
merciful, when you relive someone of a horrible thing like death, you show them mercy, you are being merciful.
– Please, he whispered. Please just end it.
And so she did. Never had anyone showed him such kindness.
I wanted him dead but my merciful impression made an impression of me in people’s eyes. Now they respect me more than they did earlier.
She was walking down the street and saw a wombat, dying. It’s claws were shaking in the air. She wondered if she could help it. It seemed like a difficult thing to do but she wanted to make the effort. She slowly opened her backpack and approached the struggling creature.
IS THIS THE ONLY WORD THEY KNOW?! I’ve tried to write about being merciful, but in truth, I don’t really believe in the word any more. I feel it in me all the time, it’s true, but when do I ever see it in others?
Behind the glass wall, eyes looked at me. Bright, shining, tearful eyes. I crouch in my corner and don’t look out. They can’t give me anything with their abstract mercy. They imagine their feelings penetrate and bask me in a warm glow. I feel nothing.
I did wrong, and I know that.
So why am I expecting anything different? I can’t even move, for godsake. Sitting here on the floor, like some pitiful animal doomed to die.
That’s what I am, isn’t it?
There’s no way anyone would want to help me, to even try to be kind. Not after what I’ve done.