Existential Questioning Novels & Stories

“Why.” One question. The most real question under all of the other questions. Not who are you or how did you get my number… just why. Why do you care. Why does this matter. So why are you still here in the outer reaches of my life when you should have been that odd thing that happened once and then dissipated in the light of day? I studied the question for a long time. I wrote the only truthful response I could. “I don’t fully know yet. But somewhere in those woods, last night, something was right in front of you. Be careful until I know what it is."

I just said so, dammit, am ready, what's your question Chloe? "Where are all the men that give good head and cuddle? The tall dark chocolate handsome brothers?" She asks looking at me as if i actually know the answer to that. It's completely silent for several seconds and then we both start giggling uncontrollably. "is this keeping you up at night?" i ask "Not is the overall temperature of our planet rising at an unsustainable rate? Not how will we address the problem of mass incarceration? Or equal pay for women? But your existential question centers around men who eat ass?" i ask her amused

Showing the Devourer their experiences with democracy, with choosing sustainable over impressive, with honoring dead through boring persistence. The Devourer was silent for a long moment, processing information it had never considered across its infinite existence. "I understand now why the Architects feared me," it said finally. "Not because I consume realities, but because I question whether they deserve consumption. I am doubt made manifest. I am the possibility that existence is mistake. I am what forces consciousness to justify its continued being." "And do we?" I asked. "Do we justify continuation? Does what we are building—tedious democracy, boring consensus, unglamorous sustainabilit

Then it asked a question. A simple question. A terrifying question. A question that made even Origin's expression change. "Are we alive?" Silence spread across existence. Absolute silence. Because nobody knew the answer. Not the Architects. Not the Dreamers. Not the Silences. Not even Origin. And somewhere beyond reality, the Void continued dreaming. Creating more stars. More Witnesses. More possibilities. Unaware that its children had just asked the single most important question in existence. And whether Nova answered correctly or not, the future of the universe would never be the same again.

He let out a loud, and frustrated yell, like he was about to destroy the world. He was at a loss, and had no choice, than to ponder the existential questions of why he was bothering about these dates in the first place. Was it to please his father, who never cared about him, or was it because of the company? If it was the company, did he really need it, or simply looking for a way to compensate himself, for the times his father never gave a fuck about him.

Reality took its first conscious breath. The experience defied description. Every sunset ever witnessed, every first kiss ever shared, every death ever mourned—all simultaneously known by existence recognizing its own experiences. Every joy and sorrow, every triumph and failure, every question and answer became part of singular cosmic awareness. Through divine perception, I felt existence realize it existed. And immediately, it experienced existential crisis. "WHY?" reality asked through every connected consciousness simultaneously. The question carried weight that threatened to crush individual awareness beneath its cosmic significance. "Why exist? Why continue? Why choose being over nothin

That Stings Because it didn’t say I was wrong emotionally. It said I was wrong fundamentally. Breaking It Down “Then what is existence?” I asked. The Answer “Undefined.” That’s Not Helpful But also It was. Because it meant something important. No Fixed Meaning Existence didn’t come with a purpose. It didn’t come with a rule. It didn’t come with an answer. So Why Do I Exist? That was the real question. I Go Deeper “I exist because I was born.” Response “Cause, not purpose.” Fair I clenched my jaw slightly.

“Because ‘I don’t know’ doesn’t help us.” “It’s the only answer I have right now.” “Then think harder.” His expression tightens slightly. “Ilyra—” “No,” I cut in. “You don’t get to just accept that something like that exists without questioning it.” “I am questioning it.” “Then question it out loud.” A pause. Longer this time. Then— “What if it’s right?” he says. The words settle between us like something fragile and dangerous. “What if I wasn’t just… turned into this?” he continues. “What if I’ve been moving toward it the whole time?”

A pause. “Explain why she should remain.” The question landed— Heavier than anything before. Because this time— It wasn’t asking to understand. It was asking to judge. And whatever answer he gave— Would decide which worlds lived— And which ones disappeared forever.

Resolve. I’m tired of the unanswered questions, sick of having life happen to me without having a wind of why or what is happening. I draw a slow, steady breath. I don’t know what will happen to me if I don’t ask him. But I know one thing with terrifying clarity: If I don’t ask now, I never will.