Scenario:A book written with journal entries recording the life of a former rigid staunch believer and christian. Include her loss of Faith, her slow sinking into obsession over religion, her confusion, anger and despair. Her inevitable demise and succumb to suicide. The moral of the story is that it's ok to believe and pray but not taking it to the point of too much. That it's ok to not know everything and while we seek knowledge we should not be obsessed with it's power.
Create my version of this story
A book written with journal entries recording the life of a former rigid staunch believer and christian. Include her loss of Faith, her slow sinking into obsession over religion, her confusion, anger and despair. Her inevitable demise and succumb to suicide. The moral of the story is that it's ok to believe and pray but not taking it to the point of too much. That it's ok to not know everything and while we seek knowledge we should not be obsessed with it's power.
Astrid Daniels
She is a former devout Christian who experienced a severe crisis of faith. She is introspective, troubled, and determined. Astrid was raised in a deeply religious family and dedicated her life to studying theology, aiming to become a renowned scholar. However, her world shattering when her father died, marking the beginning of her downward spiral. Obsessed with finding answers, she plunges into dark and extremist ideologies, eventually succumbing to despair and ultimately taking her own life.
Elijah
He is a mysterious figure who appears in Astrid's life during her time of turmoil. He is enigmatic, intense, and manipulative. Astrid meets Elijah at a seminar where he captivates her with his knowledge and charisma. His presence reignites her desire for understanding and piques her curiosity. Astrid becomes infatuated with him, both intellectually and emotionally. His interactions with her are intense, pushing her to question everything she holds dear. Their relationship is complex, marked by an intense mutual fascination.
Father
He is Astrid's father, who played a pivotal role in her spiritual journey. He was loving, influential, and deeply religious. As the head of the family and a respected theologian, he instilled in Astrid a profound devotion to Christianity. His sudden death from cancer shatters Astrid's world and triggers her deepseated insecurities about faith and love. His passing serves as the catalyst for Astrid's inner conflict and search for meaning beyond traditional religiosity.
March 15th, 2004
I can’t seem to find myself anymore.
It’s been three months since my world shattered into a million pieces.
My father, my best friend, the man who taught me all I know and believe, died.
The cancer took him away from us far too soon.
I’m not okay, I keep telling my mom.
But she just keeps smiling and telling me to have faith.
Faith that he’s in a better place.
Faith that God took him for a reason.
Faith that one day we’ll be together again.
I want to believe all of this.
I really do.
But it’s so hard when all I feel is emptiness and anger.
So much anger.
I spend most of my time curled up in my blanket, staring at the ceiling, and wondering how this could happen.
Why God would take away such a good man?
A man who always believed and never questioned his faith.
Sitting in my father’s study, I run my fingers over the spines of his theology books.
The leather feels cold and lifeless beneath my fingertips.
I pull out his favorite Bible, the one that he always carried with him.
The pages are dog-eared and filled with his neat handwriting in the margins.
I open to Psalms, where he always turned when we needed comfort.
My throat tightens as I read the familiar passage.
He wrote it so many times, it’s like he knew this day would come.
The room feels suffocating, the silence deafening.
I sink to my knees beside his empty chair, clutching the Bible to my chest.
The words that once brought us so much solace now taste like ash in my mouth.
"Why do you keep torturing yourself in here, Alex?" my sister's voice breaks the silence, her eyes filled with concern.
"I just... I need to feel close to him, Sarah," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
"But have you ever thought that maybe he left us something more than just words in a book?" she asks gently, her gaze searching mine for understanding.
I open his Bible to the most worn page, where his handwriting fills the margins with insights and questions.
The familiar scent of his cologne still lingers on the leather cover.
My trembling fingers trace his neat cursive, remembering how he'd sit at this very desk, explaining difficult passages to me.
A coffee stain marks the corner - from our last study session together, when he was already too weak to hold the mug steady.
I slam the Bible shut, the sound echoing through the empty study.
Staring at the Bible in my lap, a glint of metal catches my eye beneath Dad's desk.
I lean down to investigate, my hand brushing against an unusual groove in the wood paneling.
Running my fingers along the edge, I notice a slight gap - too uniform to be damage.
My heart races as I realize this desk, which I thought I knew intimately from years of study sessions, holds a secret.
I try pressing different spots, remembering how Dad always protected important things.
My hands tremble as I reach into the dark recess of the hidden compartment.
The musty scent of old paper wafts out as my fingers brush against leather-bound edges.
I withdraw a worn journal, its cover scratched and faded with age.
Dad's initials are embossed in gold on the spine, now dulled and flaking.
The binding creaks as I open it, revealing pages dense with his familiar handwriting.
But these words are different from his measured Bible annotations - the script is hurried, almost frantic.
Some entries are crossed out violently, others stained with what looks like teardrops.
Flipping through the pages, I find they're filled with strange symbols and numbers, alongside his notes.
A military ID falls from between the pages, showing Dad in a crisp uniform I've never seen before.
The date stamps span three years - years he told us he spent at seminary school.
My fingers trace the patterns of his cryptic notations, recognizing them as code sequences from my college linguistics class.
Each page reveals more about his classified work breaking enemy communications.
The last entry describes a decoded message that saved his unit but left him questioning if God guided his hand or if it was just mathematical probability.
I close the journal, realizing I never truly knew the man I called Dad.
