Question Behind The Question Novels & Stories

"Gone. I got here first." Ayesha’s blood ran cold. She stepped closer. "Did you kill him?" Subject 17 smirked. "No." She stood slowly, her movements measured, controlled. "I let him go." Ayesha’s breath hitched. "Why?" Subject 17’s eyes darkened. "Because you’re asking the wrong questions." Ayesha clenched her fists. "Then what should I be asking?" Subject 17 stepped forward, lowering her voice. "Not who made me."

Now, it is our turn to ask a question. Bob looks at Blacky with expectation. He didn't expect to be asked a question. How did you awaken?

"What's your plan tomorrow?" That made them sit straight on their seats. The movie we're watching is now forgotten. "Uh..." Zen trailed off, hesitating to answer, and then he glanced at Mirco as if he was asking for help. My brows furrowed. What's with the hesitation? "Am I missing something?" "No," Mirco quickly answered. "Then why can't you answer a simple question like that?" I asked, more confused than ever. They exchanged glances one more time before Mirco drew in a deep breath and answered my question.

“Ask your question, Bloom. You have one chance. Use it wisely. Choose the question that will save you, your love, or your future.” I hesitated for only a moment. Hundreds of questions rushed through my mind. Who the enemy was. Why my father had interfered with this place. What other secrets my mother had hidden. All of them mattered. Should I ask how we could defeat the enemy? Should I ask who would survive this war? No. None of it meant anything if I couldn’t claim my wolf and make it out of this place alive.

Finally he looked back at me. And asked a question that lingered in the silence between us. “Do you honestly think they don’t have reasons to wonder?”

she asked again. “No, why would I? Biswa told me before the match,” I was gradually growing conscious of what I was getting into. Ma’s trap of what Nisim called, four-point probing. Four questions, and you find yourself giving her all that she wanted to know. Even more at times! Perhaps those things as well, which lay hidden in the deepest depths of our minds and you are normally not aware of. That was her strongest weapon to deal deadly blows to whoever argued with her. She didn’t look for explanations. All you could say in response to those questions was a yes or a no.

Her thoughts and her questions and the things she had been working through and one question she had written and not answered. She got up. She took the notebook off the shelf. She sat back down at the table and opened it to the page with the question. She read it. The question was: what do I actually want. She had written it weeks ago on a night when the question had arrived in her head with the particular clarity of something that had been forming for a long time and had finally found its shape. She had written it and closed the notebook because writing the question was as much honesty as she had been ready for that night.

That was what Hunter's question was actually touching. "What's the question you're actually asking?" I said. "Whether you're going because it's right or because it's needed," he said. "Whether you'd still be going if they hadn't asked — if you'd seen this opening some other way and had to pursue it on your own, with nothing but your own desire as the engine." The silence stretched.

I asked curiously. His lips twitched as he answered mysteriously “Not exactly” “What does that mean?” I pressed when he didn’t elaborate. “Someone is very curious about the town” he commented sarcastically. Before I could reply and tell him to shove his answers up his A hole, he said challengingly “Tell you what, for every question you ask and I answer, I get to ask you a question of my own. But your answers will be as honest as mine will” I didn’t miss the underlying hint of a threat in that last sentence of his. There goes the hidden motive revealing itself.

She mumbled an apology, but said nothing further. The day went on uneventfully. Once they had served the last customer, Summer flipped the board that had the ‘closed’ sign and pulled the blinds. As she unknotted her apron, she blurted, “Are there wolves here?” Barbara, who had been noting down the day’s earnings, stiffened. Summer frowned. Did she ask something…odd? As the older woman continued to note down everything on her little notepad, her anxiety spiked. Why did she blurt out and ask such a weird question? Who asks about wolves out of nowhere, with no context?