Existential Questioning Novels & Stories

Or do I stay quiet? Dad didn’t prepare me. He told me to come here. “How do you judge a man, Alex?” he asks abruptly. “On what basis do you judge him?” My head is blank for a moment. I didn't expect an existential question though I suspected things will begin with some sort of question. My mind races, searching for an appropriate answer. Is this an interview? A trap? If I answer wrong, am I disqualified before I even start? I take a deep breath. “I believe by what he does.”

Even though Zayn answered the first question logically, he was a fool for not being able to answer such an easy question. At the podium, Paxton knocked on the surface lightly so the class would settle down immediately. Paxton asked Zayn, “Which part don’t you understand?” Zayn knew that Paxton was teaching him a lesson to solve his puzzlemet. “Mr. Brookes, I don’t understand if there are any other forms of life other than the physical body and soul. Or, I wonder if soul exists. If it does, what is soul then? If the physical body is dead, where does the soul go?” Zayn asked the question in all seriousness. The question had been troubling him during this recent period of time.

I wasn't going to risk that. “Nothing. Just some thoughts popping into my head.” I replied, forcing a smile. Seeing that he wasn't confused yet, I decided to add another lie. “Existential crisis I get.” He settled in the space next to me. “So what kind of thought pops in your head?” His brows arched and I looked down at his trousers he was still hard so why he was asking this kind of questions if he wanted to fuck so bad. Anyways I wouldn't rush him since everything was working in my favour. It was amazing if you asked me.

I have so many ‘maybes’ I am running out of the things I am sure about. What am I, really? Who is the real me? What is my purpose for being here? Why am I brought to this world? How can my existence be of the greater good of this world? I am not even sure myself the answer to these questions. A part of me wants to be the savior of this world inside the novel, but another part of me says that I should leave it as it is. What am I really supposed to do? ‘Heather, are you coming out or not?’

And when they ask the real question—not about one life or many, or crown or heart, but what kind of world survives this night— I’ll be ready to answer.

"If the Quiet Ones end everything they take away that choice. Not just for beings that exist now. For beings that might exist in the future. Every potential consciousness, every awareness, every possibility of love and meaning and growth—all of it ends." Alexander felt the weight of Kael's dilemma pressing down on both of them. This was not a choice between good and evil between right and wrong. This was a question about existence itself, whether meaning could justify suffering, whether hope was worth the pain it invited. "Have you talked to the Architects?" Alexander asked.

Then, it asked a simple, terrifying question. *"Why do you continue?"* The global network stirred, the frequency vibrating through every single heart. The Sleeper wasn't asking the Creator, or Aurora, or Luca. It was asking humanity itself. Why keep living? Why keep dreaming? Why keep hoping? After eons of systemic pain, after all the devastating loss, and after all the agonizing heartbreak of a fragile existence... why continue? The universe waited. The stars waited. The Sleeper waited for its creation to justify its own right to exist.

He crossed seas and loitered in land, to find his very reason of living. It was unusual, for he could not find it. He would lift his head to the stars and ask the skies above if they could give him an answer of who he was, but his plight were mostly ignored. He was troubled. He did not know who he is. There he was, in the middle of a snowy mountain, surrounded by wolves and white-colored bears. The creatures did not pounce on him, nor threatened to hurt him. They were just there— sitting on the thin layer of ice as the man wondered about his existence.

He questions #########

“Because the alternative is existential paralysis where you question every thought until you can’t function. Choose to accept you’re real even if you’re designed. That’s the only way forward.” My sons are watching me spiral into crisis they might be designed to witness. “We need you functional, Mama,” Adrian says carefully. “Reality just barely survived Architect judgment. We can’t afford you breaking from philosophical revelation right now.” “Can’t afford,” I repeat bitterly. “Or am I designed to break at precisely this moment for specific reason the Architect planned? Maybe my existential crisis serves purpose in larger design I can’t see.” The First Keeper manifests with clinical observat