Often, we think of truth to be made up of indisputable facts. But are they? […]
The truth. It was the one thing Marilyn could not tell. From little things like admitting she ate cake saved for her father when he came home from overseas, to who copied someone’s work in the examinations […]
That night, with the metallic pelting of rain filling the room, you looked at me and your eyes pulled me in with their pleading. Your voice broke the scattered silence, rough and desperate. “What is it?” you asked me, hands outstretched, as if reaching for something unattainable, “What is your truth?” […]
“There is nothing else to say.”
In these times of rampant faux journalism and blatant falsehoods masquerading as news, it seems necessary to rely on cold, hard facts, untainted by the bias and opinions of humans, in order to discover the “truth”. This may prove a futile effort, however, as the growing global interconnectivity afforded by the Internet necessitates the gathering and comprehension of vast amounts of information and evidence […]
One plus one equals to two. Except, it could equate to ten, eleven and one too.
Fire is hot, ice is cold, and death is as inevitable as dawn and dusk. […]
(Note: this author took artistic credit in this short historical fiction and defines truth as ‘a statement that a person holds as true’ Please read into the story accordingly.)
by yi he
have you ever thought about how at the end of the day, the only person who ever truly knows yourself is you?
you can reveal yourself to someone […]
She travelled in her red Fiat. In the wee hours of the morning, around 2.35 am. Making a sharp turn at the junction, she slowly drove to her apartment. Her car was the only source of noise in the dark and silent […]