The House of Hope is the second installation of 'The Train of Life', describing a woman who has given up on life, but is urged to explore the deepest and darkest parts of her in order to find a way to heal.
"You can be your own lover or your own ene...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"How can that be?" I blurted out, breaking the silence that had settled for so long. "How can bad be good, and good be good? What about the people who suffer? What about those who lose their parents, whose children are murdered? What kind of toxic positivity is this?"
My anger was growing. I had every right to feel the fury nearly bursting out of me. The death of my father was undeniably bad – he was torn from my life. My mother, too, was bad; she chose to end her own life, leaving my brother and me alone.
"Bad is good, and good is good. Good is bad, and bad is bad."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means it all comes down to intention. Bad can be good, just as good can be good, like a thief who steals to feed his starving family. There's nothing in this world that's absolute. Committing one sin doesn't make you a horrible person. Similarly, facing bad things doesn't mean you have a bad life. It depends on how you choose to live."
"What about the person who killed my father and left him to die? Is she good, too?"
"What was her intention?"
"To kill him, of course!" I snapped angrily.
"Well, there you have it. She was bad. We're not discussing the nature of life's circumstances, but rather what you make of them." Time gave me a look. "She was bad, child, but does that mean you intend to live your life as if there's no goodness left? If so, your good becomes bad, and your bad remains bad."
I despised how he simplified it, Time brushing past me as he muttered, "You can either be your own lover or your own enemy. The choice is yours."
"That girl, my store manager," I started, thinking about how she had walked past us, her gaze lingering a second too long to be mere coincidence.
"Yes, she was one of our clients," Time replied before I could ask. "We work hard, even as deities. Now, up. I must send you off to the next person."
Will she be anything like Awareness?
Time scoffed, amused by my fear. I narrowed my eyes at him, demanding to know who it was before he handed over the reins.
"Who is it?" I asked, hands on my hips.
"You'll find out," he emphasized. "She's not frightening. It's her guests who are."
Before I could seek an explanation, my body surged forward, and I found myself under the scorching sun in an unfamiliar place. A tent-like structure stood before me, its bright red curtains captivating. Intricate golden embroideries lined the edges, exuding an exquisite charm.
"Tim—"
"He's gone," a voice interrupted, and I turned toward its source. A young girl stood by a lavender patch, digging a hole. She wore a white dress, glasses perched on her nose. Rising and dusting her hands, she smiled at me. "Time never lingers when it's my turn. He's not fond of my work."
