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The Conflict.  

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The Conflict. Creative Writing A spirit lies, bleeding. Crushed with the weight of all immorality on his chest. With each passing day the spirit grows weaker, and yet never dies. "Is it my fate to feel hopelessness and despair for all eternity, must I suffer so, will my heart feel forever ripped into a thousand pieces? Oh god, please hear my plea, help me" His cries carried into the darkness of forever. In moments it appeared as if his prayer had been heard. A fellow spirit passed him by. His face identical to that of the tormented one, and yet at the same time it was different. "Hello there, is there a problem?" Somehow his question sounded insincere. "Oh yes, I lay here helpless and weakened, would you help me for I am unable to help myself, so abandoned am I. I fear if I stay in this state I will surely...

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