Prayer From Pulp Fiction Novels & Stories

My voice, soft, carries my heart's deepest wish. "Sweetheart," I murmur, "Let's pray for papa, okay?" He nods, his small hands clasping together near his chest. He closes his eyes and bows his head, and I follow suit. Together, we send our silent prayers out into the universe, seeking strength, hope, and healing.

What is clear is that all the enemies are really enemies, the lives they are at stake, are not just business matters. Amanda rubbed her husband's head, hoping that he would be calmer and more soundly in his sleep. But Felix grabbed Amanda's hand and linked his fingers, gripping Amanda's fingers tightly, he didn't want his beloved wife to get hurt anymore. Soon the Adhan resounded, causing Felix to open his eyes and sit up, so far he hasn't prayed yet, he even forgot how. "Ra, teach me to pray, I'm sorry I can't be a good priest for you," said Amar

Their deep voices sent a chill down the spines of everyone who heard it was so deeply poignant and moving that even the most powerful of men acknowledged their insignificance when faced with the omnipotent presence of God. ‘In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Amen’ They said together as the prayer came to an end and the Consultant removed the life support tube from Tash’s throat, the whole world seemed to stop as everyone waited. ‘Breathe’ Romero prayed silently,

In that solemn moment, Hans closed his eyes and made a silent prayer to the gods, a desperate plea for help. "Please," he whispered under his breath, "save him. If you're out there, watching over us, please save my friend." His voice trembled with the emotional intensity of the plea, and he continued to watch over Connor, hoping against hope that there might still be a chance for his best friend's recovery.

Although it had been a while, I prayed. "Dear God, I once believed you to be real… but now I'm not so sure anymore. And even if you exist, I don't know if you hate me as I'm supernatural and probably, I don't know, evil… Anyways, I'm just going to ask you for this favor as I don't know what else to do and because there's no harm in praying." I sniffed and wiped away my ceaseless tears. "Please, wake him up. Please, I beg you. He's just a boy, he doesn't deserve to die this way. He's my friend and my brother. I have lost all my family, I don't want to lose him too. Please God, answer my prayer." I didn't feel any difference, not in Checkmate or with my disturbed heart and mind. I had to try a

Orphanage Home: 213 Lukward Street, Los Angeles. She was shocked and didn’t put it into consideration until she saw another familiar writing on the paper. The old priest stated: “Fred and I. May the Heavenly Father forgive us.” Her eyes widened, confusion hit her hard. “Why would the old priest demand forgiveness from the Lord for him and Fred”? “What’s going on?” she gasped. The room became thick, each walls held secrets of decades. Tension grew. As Secrets are about to be unveiled.

I made my way towards him, my footsteps soundless against the polished marble floor. Once I reached him, I watched him silently, straining my ears to hear his prayer. He was praying for forgiveness. Alas, he never asked for mine. My hands balled into fists at my sides, clenched at my sides. Each word he uttered only fanned the flames of my anger, simmering beneath the surface like a brewing volcano. But then, in a shaky whisper, his words spilled out like a confession. “Lord… deliver Ezreal from his demons… protect his soul from the darkness he’s chosen…”

He would probably get up like a wounded lion ready to pounce on his prey. Breathing profoundly, Zynah retrieved her prayer mat from the top of her bookshelf, where she always put it. Facing the Qibla, she spread it neatly on the floor and began her Fajr prayer. Each movement, each whispered supplication, was a plea for strength, for guidance. After she had finished praying, she remained on the mat, pouring her heart out to the Almighty and begging Him to forgive her for all of the mistakes she had made. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she buried her face in her folded hands.

As the darkness eats the light, the drum in my chest grows stronger. "PATER NOSTER, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostrils. Et ne nos induce in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen." I looked at old man Poso. I couldn't pay attention to what he was saying, but I also couldn't help but feel like the prayer was familiar to me. I don't know where I heard it but he is very familiar to me.

I whispered while looking around the church auditorium. “Let’s give the Lord a clap offering,” Pastor Alozie’s voice boomed beside me, which was accompanied by the clapping occupants in the church. Two prayer warriors rushed to my side and helped me to my feet, before positioning the crutch under my right armpit. I didn’t know if I was in a trance for a brief second, or if anyone else saw it, but I knew I saw a purple book six inches from my face, before it dis appeared in a puff of purple smoke.