Existential Stories

Let's journey together through time, stillness, and simply explore being alive.

Practitioner's Torture is a supernatural action-drama centred around Cage, an average kid who unknowingly harbours the soul of a godlike entity, Kisei Suru Takusan. As Cage begins to unlock his spiritual abilities, he discovers that the power inside him is both a weapon and a curse. Wrapped into a violent world full of Cryptids, Warriors, and Layered ideologies, Cage must navigate his own identity while resisting Takusan's growing influence. With the help of allies and mentors, he confronts both external threats and internal ones, learning to master his abilities without losing his soul in the process.

Hello. My name is Alma Smith. The sole occupant of the research vessel Asterion. This is my final transmission. I am recording it because my human brain, with all its human neuroses, insists it is still useful. It believes, with embarrassing optimism, that if it keeps me talking long enough, a miraculous solution will interrupt me. That is my biology. The reality is that I am already dead by the time you hear this. I am approaching the event horizon of the black hole designated Sisyphus. An ugly irony who, like me, was not punished by labor but by hope. I did not fall in by accident or because I was suicidal. Asterion did this. Whether it was intentional or not makes no difference now. I have already sent you all the data. You can decide what happened. I no longer care. The point of no return is coming. Scientifically. But practically I crossed it long ago with the resources I had. I want to be clear about something. I am terrified. There is no heroic calm in me. Just a relentless fear pounding in my chest, begging me to keep looking for a way out. Surely there should be another option. Surely this is not how a thinking, sophisticated species ends up: alone, narrating itself into the dark. That may just be the human condition, though. You're on a planet. I'm in a murdering mechanical can. We're both floating in a vast black expanse, conscious and alone. Being human is wonderful. I've enjoyed it. But it makes uncertainty like this unbearable. The only comfort I have is knowing that no matter what happens, I am going to die here. If anyone hears this, I did not die quietly or bravely. I will likely die terrified and very human. But I went honestly. I understood what was coming. If that counts for anything, let it count out here. Time is strange now. Only forward and future. The concept of the past is obsolete. Perhaps it always has been. I love you, Dad. Happy belated birthday. This is Alma Smith, signing off.

I wasted a year trying to outsmart my own brain. I wrote rules for how to think, then rules for how to read the rules, until I couldn't do anything else. This is an attempt to verbalize that.

(personal work)

I awakened to a truth that had no beginning. The Maw was no longer a place I traversed-it was a function of my existence, an absence that moved because I willed it to. As I drifted through what once passed for boundaries, I learned that the world had already begun to rot long before I ever touched it. Energy meant to flow outward had stagnated, piling upon reality like sediment, warping laws, beings, and even causality itself. What others called imbalance, I recognized as inevitability. Fragments of forgotten systems, remnants of gods who mistook structure for authority, and observers who had survived by standing still all turned their attention toward me. They believed the Maw was the threat. They were wrong. The Maw was merely the symptom. I was the correction that emerged when the world refused to resolve its own contradictions. With every step, I understood more-not just how the world functioned, but why it no longer deserved to function as it once did. This volume follows my quiet integration into existence itself: no grand declarations, no borrowed destiny-only the slow, irreversible realization that I was no longer bound by origin, system, or design. The question was never whether the world could survive me. It was whether anything should remain unchanged after understanding the truth I now carried.

LIMINAL Some places do not break. They hold. In a quiet rural region, a child is born who should not have survived. A midwife senses the balance shift, but says nothing. A case is closed by an institution that believes closure prevents suffering. Reality does not tear open. Nothing crosses over. Instead, the world begins to behave differently. Numbers settle where they should not. Animals pause at thresholds. Dreams arrange themselves into incomplete shapes. LIMINAL is a grounded, atmospheric work of speculative fiction where inexplicable phenomena are approached as consequences rather than miracles-events that arrive too early, or too late. Told through braided points of view and interludes of false documentation, the novel explores: - inherited anomalies mistaken for myth - institutions built to preserve reality at any cost - the quiet horror of stability that is not healing If you enjoy slow-burn, intellectually unsettling fiction in the vein of Annihilation, Solaris, or Le Guin's later work, this story lives at the edge where explanation begins to fail.

Do you know about human mimics? They lurk in towns and cities， imitating human ways of life. Once you see through them， you'll become the next human mimic.

The Void is sentient. It seeks the consumption of all existence, but is unable to do so due to forces it unintentionally gave rise to during its own emergence. Unable to act directly, it instead corrupts reality - influencing, degrading, and destabilizing it over time. Humanity discovered the Void after its effects became measurable. In response, the Void Response Authority was formed: an interstellar organization tasked with studying Void-corrupted phenomena, containing active threats, and, when possible, repurposing anomalous properties as weapons. Soriel is a void anomaly employed by the VRA as an anomalous agent. Following a transfer to the Frontier planet Abyssia, he becomes part of a system designed to observe, control, and survive the influence of the Void - even as conditions begin to diverge from what the Authority considers acceptable.

The story continues as the mysterious warden of Zig-Zig is eventually informed about Herschel's escape. Against every principle of his precious Dalmicir school, Lyeasrakardsul submits and asks the Knomes for help before finally receiving the dreaded p-wyrd. Herschel is arrested as a chicken thief and brought to the town Stagna where he has been prejudged as a p-e-r-v-e-r-t by popular opinion, and where he will have some of the most significant encounters in his life.

Across the cold distances between stars, humanity spreads through the galaxy as the Sons of Supreme, warrior pilgrims in cathedral ships who believe God made them in His image and gave them the universe as their inheritance. Alien species watch in horror as these faithful conquerors advance not with weapons alone, but with hymns that shatter minds and certainty that burns away doubt like fire. From the perspective of beings made of questions, memory, and fear, humanity is not just dangerous but spiritually overwhelming, creatures whose absolute belief in their divine purpose makes them unstoppable. As humans claim system after system, the aliens must face a terrifying truth: they are not fighting an empire or an invasion, but a species that believes it is simply coming home to what was always meant to be theirs. In the darkness between worlds, the galaxy learns to fear not the weapons of mankind, but the hymns they sing while advancing toward their inheritance.

If hatred were taken from me, I would die of emptiness. It is the only thing that has never abandoned me......

Your mind is a burning room, a drowning storm, and a torturing fairy-tale all at once. Now, descend through its layers and discover what waits in the one place even the flames can't reach. Sad Sundays is my weekly space to share melancholic poetry, words that help me navigate the stillness, the weight, and the quiet storms of recovery. Each Sunday, I post a new piece that I've written, using poetry to process my journey through detox and rehab, to face the difficult parts of healing, and to find meaning in the silence. Every poem is written by hand with help from the Rhymezone platform. This series is as much for me as it is for anyone who finds comfort in knowing they're not alone on their gray days. I will eventually try to tie most of my work together into a larger piece, but first and foremost, this will function as a collection of my writings while I am going through detox. There may be an underlying story, but perhaps not. Find out next week, and join me for a Sad Sunday moment. New Upload every Sunday at 18:00 (6 PM) German time - CET/CEST (UTC+1/UTC+2).

A collection of poetry that may hurt your soul or heal it.

Η Ατλαντίδα δεν χάθηκε. Διαγράφηκε. Δεν ήταν απλώς μια πόλη ή ένα νησί, αλλά ένας κόσμος που δεν χωρούσε στην ιστορία που ακολούθησε. Ανάμεσα σε χαμένους πολιτισμούς, reset της ανθρωπότητας, διαγραφές μνήμης και κόσμους που επιβιώνουν μόνο ως μύθος, αυτό το βιβλίο δεν προσπαθεί να αποδείξει τίποτα. Προσπαθεί να συνδέσει μοτίβα. Η Ατλαντίδα, η Tartaria και η Torenza δεν παρουσιάζονται ως βεβαιότητες, αλλά ως ίχνη: • πολιτισμοί που εξαφανίστηκαν χωρίς μάχη • γνώση που μετατράπηκε σε μύθο • μνήμη που επιμένει χωρίς χάρτη Αν κάτι μέσα σου νιώθει ότι «κάτι λείπει» από την ιστορία, ίσως δεν είναι επειδή δεν το έμαθες ποτέ. Ίσως απλώς το θυμάσαι.

Nora Keane never believed in inevitability-until the lighthouse chose her. When an anonymous list appears in her mailbox, Nora dismisses it as coincidence. But days later, stranded at sea near the forbidden island where her father vanished years earlier, she learns the truth: the lighthouse does not warn ships away. It selects. And when its beam locks onto her alone, Nora is taken somewhere else entirely. She wakes in Driftfall, a vast city that exists beyond time, sustained by a brutal logic. Driftfall survives by redistributing strain-load-onto the people it pulls from the world. Those who can endure pressure, ambiguity, and moral compromise are put to work holding the system together. Those who can't disappear. As Nora rises within Driftfall's hierarchy, she discovers her father was taken before her-and nearly destroyed the city trying to escape. Nora soon learns escape is possible, but only at the cost of countless lives. Faced with a choice between freedom and responsibility, she refuses both. Instead, Nora commits to staying-becoming a problem the system cannot solve. Black Beacon is a literary speculative novel about systems that survive by hiding their damage, the cost of being useful, and what happens when refusal becomes a form of resistance.

Presence gathers. Motion slows. Sound softens. The Ether manifests-not as figure, but as the texture of existence itself. It lingers in the space between matter and time, holding identity, memory, and form just long enough to be felt.

Have you ever seen a moment and thought - that's it? That if you could just be there, just sit where someone else once sat, you'd finally feel complete? After watching a man at peace in a movie's final scene, a boy becomes convinced that satisfaction is something you can reach - a place, a sunset, a moment waiting to be arrived at. So he goes looking for it.

=P

When death stops being inevitable, it becomes procedural. Medical science has extended the human body beyond it limit, erasing illness, aging, and most forms of natural death. Survival is no longer uncertain, but meaning is. In a society that treats immortality as progress, the question is no longer how long a person lives, but when an end is necessary. Theos is a doctor whose work inspires trust. His hands are steady, his decisions precise, his presence reassuring. Patients feel safe under his care. Institutions depend on his competence. No one questions the authority that gathers around him. Not even Theos himself. As expectations accumulate and responsibility mounting, the boundary between moral and belief begins to blur. What was once mercy was dictate. What was once unthinkable becomes practice. When death no longer arrives on its own, someone will decide how it enters. And Theos has never learned how to refuse it.