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  • By being yourself, you put something beautiful into the world that was not there before.
    By being yourself, you put something beautiful into the world that was not there before.
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  • Success isn't about how your life looks to others. It's about how it feels to you. That's what it means to be true to yourself.
    Success isn't about how your life looks to others. It's about how it feels to you. That's what it means to be true to yourself.
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  • As we go through life we gradually discover who we are, but the more we discover, the more we lose ourselves.
    As we go through life we gradually discover who we are, but the more we discover, the more we lose ourselves.
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  • Some people around you will not understand your journey. They don't need to; it's not for them.
    Some people around you will not understand your journey. They don't need to; it's not for them.
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  • He who tries to shine dims his own light. He who defines himself can't know who he really is.
    He who tries to shine dims his own light. He who defines himself can't know who he really is.
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  • Say what you feel. It's not being rude, it's called being real.
    Say what you feel. It's not being rude, it's called being real.
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  • The Living Dead

    In a small town, there was a legend about the Living Dead—people who had been buried yet were seen walking the streets at night, blank-eyed, moving in eerie silence.

    One evening, Tunde was on his way home when he noticed someone familiar down the darkened street: his old friend Chike, who had died a month ago. Tunde froze. Chike’s skin was pale, his eyes vacant, and his clothes were caked in dirt. Slowly, Chike turned his head toward Tunde, and in a voice that sounded distant and broken, he whispered, “Come with me. It’s cold… down there.”

    Tunde stumbled backward, but Chike kept moving toward him, his hand outstretched. The air grew icy, and whispers filled Tunde’s ears, as though hundreds of voices were calling from the grave. Desperate, Tunde ran, but no matter how fast he went, he felt those cold eyes watching him.

    At home, Tunde locked the doors, trembling, only to hear faint scratches against the walls. He looked through the window and saw not just Chike, but others from the town who had died, their lifeless faces staring back at him, all whispering the same haunting words: “Join us… join us…”

    Days passed, and Tunde became a shell of himself, barely sleeping, haunted by the whispers that echoed through his mind. One night, he finally vanished, his house empty, only a trail of dirt leading to the graveyard, where a freshly dug hole lay open, waiting.

    Now, people say they see Tunde among the Living Dead, wandering the streets, his eyes hollow, still whispering, “Join us…”
    The Living Dead In a small town, there was a legend about the Living Dead—people who had been buried yet were seen walking the streets at night, blank-eyed, moving in eerie silence. One evening, Tunde was on his way home when he noticed someone familiar down the darkened street: his old friend Chike, who had died a month ago. Tunde froze. Chike’s skin was pale, his eyes vacant, and his clothes were caked in dirt. Slowly, Chike turned his head toward Tunde, and in a voice that sounded distant and broken, he whispered, “Come with me. It’s cold… down there.” Tunde stumbled backward, but Chike kept moving toward him, his hand outstretched. The air grew icy, and whispers filled Tunde’s ears, as though hundreds of voices were calling from the grave. Desperate, Tunde ran, but no matter how fast he went, he felt those cold eyes watching him. At home, Tunde locked the doors, trembling, only to hear faint scratches against the walls. He looked through the window and saw not just Chike, but others from the town who had died, their lifeless faces staring back at him, all whispering the same haunting words: “Join us… join us…” Days passed, and Tunde became a shell of himself, barely sleeping, haunted by the whispers that echoed through his mind. One night, he finally vanished, his house empty, only a trail of dirt leading to the graveyard, where a freshly dug hole lay open, waiting. Now, people say they see Tunde among the Living Dead, wandering the streets, his eyes hollow, still whispering, “Join us…”
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  • All our dreams can come true: "All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them" is a quote by Walt Disney that encourages people to pursue their dreams with determination and drive.

    #courage #hope
    All our dreams can come true: "All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them" is a quote by Walt Disney that encourages people to pursue their dreams with determination and drive. #courage #hope 💯
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  • Why Did You Kill Me

    Jade had a dark secret. Years ago, in a fit of anger, she had pushed her childhood friend, Mara, into the river during an argument. Mara had drowned, and Jade had told everyone it was an accident. She tried to bury the memory, but every October, around the anniversary, Jade felt a presence watching her.

    One night, she awoke to soft whispers drifting through her room. The words were barely audible, but they sent a chill down her spine. "Why did you kill me?" the voice echoed, faint and full of sorrow.

    Jade sat up, her heart pounding, and tried to convince herself it was just a dream. But then she saw a figure standing in the corner, dripping wet, with hollow eyes that glowed faintly in the dark. It was Mara, her skin pale and bloated, hair tangled with weeds, and water pooling at her feet.

    Jade’s voice trembled. "M-Mara?" she whispered.

    Mara's ghostly figure moved closer, her hollow eyes fixed on Jade. "Why did you kill me?" she repeated, louder this time, her voice distorted and filled with rage.

    Jade tried to scream, but her voice caught in her throat. She scrambled backward, but Mara reached out, her icy, wet hands gripping Jade's wrists. "You left me to die, Jade. Now, you'll feel what I felt."

    Jade felt water rise around her, though she was still in her bedroom. It filled her mouth, her lungs, suffocating her, as if she were drowning in that river again. Just as she thought she couldn’t breathe any longer, the water vanished, leaving her gasping for air. But Mara’s voice lingered in the room, repeating, “Why did you kill me?”

    From that night on, Jade was never alone. Every mirror, every shadow, every whisper in the night reminded her of Mara’s last words. And, year by year, Mara’s ghost continued to drag her closer to the depths of that cold, dark river.
    Why Did You Kill Me Jade had a dark secret. Years ago, in a fit of anger, she had pushed her childhood friend, Mara, into the river during an argument. Mara had drowned, and Jade had told everyone it was an accident. She tried to bury the memory, but every October, around the anniversary, Jade felt a presence watching her. One night, she awoke to soft whispers drifting through her room. The words were barely audible, but they sent a chill down her spine. "Why did you kill me?" the voice echoed, faint and full of sorrow. Jade sat up, her heart pounding, and tried to convince herself it was just a dream. But then she saw a figure standing in the corner, dripping wet, with hollow eyes that glowed faintly in the dark. It was Mara, her skin pale and bloated, hair tangled with weeds, and water pooling at her feet. Jade’s voice trembled. "M-Mara?" she whispered. Mara's ghostly figure moved closer, her hollow eyes fixed on Jade. "Why did you kill me?" she repeated, louder this time, her voice distorted and filled with rage. Jade tried to scream, but her voice caught in her throat. She scrambled backward, but Mara reached out, her icy, wet hands gripping Jade's wrists. "You left me to die, Jade. Now, you'll feel what I felt." Jade felt water rise around her, though she was still in her bedroom. It filled her mouth, her lungs, suffocating her, as if she were drowning in that river again. Just as she thought she couldn’t breathe any longer, the water vanished, leaving her gasping for air. But Mara’s voice lingered in the room, repeating, “Why did you kill me?” From that night on, Jade was never alone. Every mirror, every shadow, every whisper in the night reminded her of Mara’s last words. And, year by year, Mara’s ghost continued to drag her closer to the depths of that cold, dark river.
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