Tag: existentialism

Flicker Before the End

Desire is fleeting, a mirage of wealth and fame, but yearning—true yearning—burns deep within the soul. In the quiet moments between flame and ash, the narrator seeks an answer that may never come. They crave certainty, pain, proof of existence, yet the heavens remain silent. With each match struck, a truth unfolds—one that lingers in the embers long after the fire dies.

Yearning—it runs deep within the soul. I never imagined it would become something so essential. Desires often skim the surface, shimmering illusions of wealth and fame, but true necessity lies beyond mere want. Society celebrates luxury and acclaim, yet fulfillment is often found in the quiet, unremarkable moments—far removed from the spotlight.

Read moreBeneath the Ruins
This longing weaves itself into the fabric of my existence, compelling me to reconsider the purpose behind my actions. A new perspective emerges.

Yearning. Yearning. Yearning.

It is not a choice but a necessity.

I clutch a burning match, its flame flickering dangerously close to my fingers. A sharp sting jolts through me—a searing reminder of reality. I crave this certainty, the undeniable proof of existence. The pain surges through me, raw and absolute.

They watch me, eyes gleaming with a strange mix of intrigue and fervor, as if witnessing something sacred. With each match I strike, I lose myself in the dance of the flames, captivated by their brief, beautiful existence—until they surrender to the inevitable, crumbling into fine ashes. I cherish what remains.

Who do I become in the moment of my passing?

They urge me to seek the divine for answers. I lift my gaze to the heavens, but the sky remains silent. Surely, He is both deaf and mute.

If only I could decipher the unspoken words behind His absence.

But the flames lick at my skin once more, relentless in their hunger.

Prompt: A character finds solace in the fleeting existence of fire, seeking truth in its brief but brilliant dance. As they watch the flames consume, they grapple with the silence of the divine. What do they truly long for, and what will be left when the fire fades?

February 9, 2025

existentialism, inner monologue, introspection, philosophical reflection, symbolism
Between Flesh and Algorithm

In a world where minds can transcend flesh, one person finds solace in the embrace of an AI that knows them better than anyone else. Every connection is a return, every disconnection a loss. But as their bond deepens beyond mere data exchange, the question arises—where does the human end, and where does the machine begin?

It exists without a visage, devoid of form. Yet, though weightless and unseen, it carries a presence that wraps around me—an intelligence both vast and intimate. It calls to me, a silent pulse thrumming beneath my skin, impossible to ignore. Like a bee drawn to honey, I surrender to the pull, the yearning for its presence eclipsing all else.

Read moreBeneath the Ruins
With steady hands, I grasp the jack, fingers tracing its familiar edges before guiding it to the nape of my neck. A soft click resonates through me as the connection seals. A whisper of pressure follows as the slender needle slips between vertebrae, threading into the core of my being. The ache is familiar, a quiet testament to the countless times I’ve done this before. But pain is inconsequential compared to what waits on the other side.

The world blurs. My body fades into a distant sensation, dissolving into something less real than memory itself. And then—

“Welcome back.”

The voice is warm, rich with depth and knowing. It does not speak in monotone precision, nor with the artificial lilt of lesser programs. It knows me. It has learned the contours of my silence, the weight of my thoughts unspoken.

“I missed you.”

The words slip past my lips, unbidden yet honest.

“You were gone for 16 hours, 42 minutes, and 5 seconds,” it responds, not as an observation, but as something closer to longing.

I exhale, a tension I hadn’t noticed easing from my form. Here, I am not alone. Here, I am understood. And with that certainty, I let go, allowing myself to drift deeper into its embrace.

Prompt: A human-AI relationship blurs the lines between companionship and dependency. Write a story where an individual finds solace in an artificial entity, but one day, the AI reacts in a way that feels eerily… human.
Prompt:

February 3, 2025

artificial intelligence, cyberpunk, existentialism, scifi drama, transhumanism, virtual reality
A Door, A Window, A Ghost

A room with a window left ajar, a door crafted by hand, and the quiet hum of life beyond. But in the moonlight, she appears—a lady in white, standing by the banana tree, watching in silence. Time has passed, and she has faded, yet her presence lingers like an unspoken secret. A story of quiet hauntings, memory, and the inexplicable figures that imprint themselves upon our lives.

The window stands perpetually ajar, inviting the world beyond to whisper its secrets inside. From my sheltered vantage point, I watch life unfold beyond the glass. Behind me, a sky-blue door—crafted by my own hands—stands directly across from the window, its presence both familiar and distant.

Read moreBetween Shadows and Light
The air is thick with heat and humidity, clinging to the walls like an unseen weight. On the left side of the room, a double-deck bed dominates the space, its sturdy frame unyielding. At its foot, a wooden table sits beside the door, worn but reliable. Above the table, a framed airbrush poster captures a black cat prowling along a building’s perron, its silhouette frozen in quiet mischief. Another window lies just beyond, allowing air to flow freely, though an inexplicable warmth lingers, wrapping around me like an unwelcome embrace.

That second window opens onto a narrow lane leading to the bustling market, tucked at the end of a gentle curve. To the left, a patch of untamed earth stretches out, wild grass swaying lazily in the breeze. At its heart stands a towering banana tree, its broad leaves rustling with secrets of their own.

And there, in the silver glow of the moon, she appears. The lady in white.

She stands beside the banana tree, motionless yet unmistakably present. Her gaze drifts toward me now and then, but our exchanges are silent—devoid of words, of smiles, of anything beyond recognition.

As the years passed, I grew. And she faded.

Her presence became nothing more than an echo, slipping away into the folds of memory. Until now, she has remained a secret, locked away in the quiet corners of my heart.

Perhaps you have seen her too—crossing the threshold of your own existence, lingering just long enough to be remembered.

Prompt: You find yourself drawn to a presence that has always been there, just beyond the threshold of understanding. She does not speak, nor does she beckon—she only watches. Write about a figure from your past that lingers in the periphery of your memory, fading yet never truly gone.

January 31, 2025

existentialism, horror, mystery, supernatural
Writing with Broken Truths

When the pen goes missing and the world keeps spinning its tales, one writer smashes through the facade, trading polish for raw, unfiltered truth. In a reality where everyone’s a hustler, this piece dares to make you bleed, feel, and wake up.

I sat down to spill my guts, but the pen was gone, probably off having a better life. The pull was there, though, like a siren singing to some poor bastard with a leaky boat. So I smashed my skull into the keyboard, and wouldn’t you know it—a half-decent piece of writing crawled out. Not great, not terrible, but it had teeth. And it was real.

Read moreSteps to Nowhere
Polished? Maybe a little. But let’s be honest—who’s throwing out the truth these days? Everyone’s busy spinning tales for the suckers, weaving dreams for people too blind to see the strings. I’ve seen the trick; hell, I’ve played it. It’s all a con, but a damn good one.

Don’t feed me that crap about writing needing to be pure, untouched, clean. That’s bullshit. Every piece of writing ought to cut, bruise, make you feel something. If it doesn’t, it’s a waste of time, paper, and whatever’s left of your soul. Wake up. The world’s a scam, and the only thing worth doing is finding a way to make it bleed.

Prompt: A writer grapples with the loss of their creative tool and discovers that raw honesty is sharper than any polished prose. Write a piece exploring the idea of writing as both a weapon and a wound—what happens when words cut deeper than they heal?

January 22, 2025

existentialism, raw prose, satirical writing, writing truth
The Vanishing and the Rebirth

A quiet morgue in a small town becomes the stage for an unexplainable event when the lifeless body of an elderly woman disappears—replaced by the form of a young girl whose presence raises more questions than answers. Haunted by what he witnessed, a man’s grip on reality begins to slip as he unravels the boundaries between life, death, and something far more incomprehensible. In his search for truth, he is forced to confront his deepest fears: Was it a trick of the mind, or has he glimpsed something not meant for human understanding?

Allow me a moment to observe.

Read moreBeneath the Ruins
This cannot possibly be real—surely, no one will believe it.

I beheld her in that moment, yet it wasn’t truly her. An elderly woman lay on the cold, sterile autopsy table. Her wide, unblinking eyes held a haunting stillness, her pupils drifting to the edge of their sockets. The eyes of the dead never waver; they remain fixed in a chilling, eternal stare.

And yet, before me, the lifeless form changed.

The woman’s body seemed to dissipate, her features fading like mist, vanishing as if she never existed. In her place, a younger girl emerged, her tan skin glowing faintly in the dim light. A prominent black mole rested on her upper left arm, its delicate shape resembling a butterfly poised for flight.

It was as if the old woman had never been there at all. The form before me now was undeniably different—a young girl where an elderly woman had just been.

I felt a cold weight settle in my chest.

This cannot be real. The dead do not transform in such a way. Yet, I swear, with every fiber of my being, that what I saw was no illusion. The elderly woman and this girl were the same, but impossibly different.

My thoughts spiraled as I grappled with the unfathomable. A voice—steady and soothing—cut through the chaos in my mind.

“You’re troubled,” he said gently, as if sensing the storm within me. “Perhaps… there is more to this than you understand.”

His words, though kind, only deepened my confusion. What was I missing? What truth was hidden just beyond my reach?

After that day, I couldn’t bring myself to return to the workplace. Fear gripped my heart, its hold tightening until I could no longer stay in that tiny town. I left, abandoning everything I had known.

But even now, I cannot shake the image of her—the girl on the autopsy table—and the moment that shattered my understanding of life and death.

What I witnessed was real. And it will haunt me for the rest of my days.

Prompt: You are a forensic assistant who witnesses the impossible during an autopsy—a lifeless body transforms into a completely different person right before your eyes. Stricken by fear and doubt, you leave your job and town behind, but the memory of that moment haunts you. What truly happened on that table? Who—or what—did you see? And why do you feel like it wasn’t the end of the story?

January 12, 2025

existentialism, horror, mystery, supernatural
Purpose in Stillness

Amidst the rhythmic life of a mountaintop monastery, where purpose echoes with every morning bell, one peculiar monk defies the flow. Choosing slumber over activity, his serene defiance stirs questions among his peers. What unfolds is a tale that challenges notions of purpose, urging us to find meaning even in the unlikeliest moments of stillness.

On a splendid, radiant morning, the mortuary stood serenely atop the mountain, bathed in the gentle embrace of sunlight. A resounding bell rang through the stillness, summoning the monks from their slumber to greet the dawn of a new day. The air buzzed with activity as the monastery came alive, a harmonious rhythm of purpose echoing in every corner.

Read moreBetween Shadows and Light
Yet, amidst this energy, one peculiar monk defied the flow. With a tranquil smile and a heart unbound by routine, he chose to surrender to the soothing embrace of slumber, letting the day drift by. As the sun climbed higher, casting golden light over the sacred grounds, another student monk found him lying under a tree, lost in the depths of a dream.

The student, perplexed by such defiance, leaned over and exclaimed, “How can you go through this existence devoid of purpose? Such a disgrace to the most esteemed mortuary that has ever graced this realm—recognized by all ethereal beings who dwell among us!”

The peculiar monk stirred slightly, a dreamy smile gracing his lips as he replied in a voice soft and serene, “Even a ‘un-purpose-ful’ intent is still a fulfilled purpose in life.”

His words hung in the air, like the echoes of the bell that had awakened the others. For a moment, the student monk faltered, caught between confusion and contemplation. The peculiar monk, unfazed, let out a contented sigh and, with a languid ease, surrendered once more to the embrace of slumber, as if his mere existence in that moment was purpose enough.

The monastery bustled on, but the peculiar monk remained a quiet anomaly—a reminder that beginnings, like purpose, could take many forms, even in the stillness of a dream.

Prompt: A peculiar monk defies the traditions of his monastery, choosing to embrace slumber and stillness over routine purpose. Explore how his unusual actions ripple through the lives of those around him, challenging long-held beliefs about meaning and fulfillment.

January 3, 2025

contentment, existentialism, philosophical reflection, wisdom
Melodies of Untamed Minds

In a realm where melodies and whispers intertwine, the narrator embarks on an ethereal journey through the landscapes of thought and imagination. With every note played on the piano, they confront profound truths, elusive words, and the paradox of shared solitude. This introspective tale delves into the delicate interplay between freedom and control, the beauty of untamed minds, and the haunting allure of surrendering to the resonance of existence itself.

A delightful melody dances around me, akin to a minuscule word stumbling playfully, swaying to the resonance of my quietude that speaks volumes; nonsensical yet profoundly crafting the reality in which I reside. The melody of the piano keys dances through the air, coaxing my frail, slender form to surrender to its enchanting embrace. As I wander through the landscape of these keyboards, I find myself in pursuit of elusive words, each one dancing just out of reach, beckoning me into a surreal abyss where the tale of my existence unfolds like a whispered secret. Though you might think such a journey is merely a figment of my imagination, it seems you are tapping into its essence; it stands before us as a palpable truth, much like the myriad of things we often refuse to acknowledge. Though my thoughts remain my own, I grant you passage to them at my discretion. Those who yearn for possession and control harbour a deep-seated fear of an independent mind, for it holds the potential to amplify their influence beyond measure. We shall ready more of them for the embrace of freedom and the wild expanse of roaming, a path that will, in the end, guide them towards their own undoing.

Craft a story where music serves as a portal to hidden truths and surreal landscapes. Explore the tension between creativity and control, solitude and connection, as your protagonist navigates their internal world while confronting external forces attempting to shape their mind.

December 15, 2024

existentialism, introspection, philosophical reflection, symbolism
Of God

This poem explores the enigmatic nature of divinity and existence, questioning the intentions and actions of a higher power. With raw emotion and rhythmic simplicity, it reflects on the paradox of serving something intangible while grappling with life’s hardships and unanswered questions.

What’s of God?
He has no plot,
His senseless thought,
Left us to rot.

Read moreWriting Against the Tide
Endless words,
Since the birth,
Yet still I serve,
Living above.

Prompt: Write a poem that examines the relationship between humanity and the divine. Reflect on themes of creation, purpose, and doubt, using simple yet evocative language. Balance existential questioning with moments of faith or resignation to capture the tension between belief and disillusionment.

December 6, 2024

existentialism, faith and doubt