Existentialism Stories

In the aftermath of an intergalactic war, one survivor becomes the center of a new religion spanning multiple realities. Linuka fought in a war that shattered empires. She was supposed to disappear into history like countless soldiers before her. Instead, across ruined worlds and fractured realities, people begin to worship her. As political systems collapse and reality itself becomes a battlefield, Linuka is pulled into the center of a movement far larger than herself. What begins as hope spreads across worlds like prophecy. Faith becomes power. Power becomes control. And the lines between leader, weapon, and goddess start to disappear. Goddess of the Galacticide is a long-form psychological military space opera about transhumanism, political warfare, and the terrifying consequences of belief engineered on a cosmic scale. Expect fleet warfare, alien civilizations, ancient mysteries, collapsing realities, and a heroine whose rise may ultimately doom civilization. Set in the award-winning Galacticide universe, this story serves as a new entry point for readers while expanding a science fiction saga decades in the making. This is the story of the rise, reign, and ruin of the first true multiversal faith.

Thoughts that seek no logic, poems that fly without taking any direction. A collection that does not seek to engage in discourse, though the Outer and the Inner both demand it. No images, only words shaping a diary that seeks neither a purpose, nor an end.

A Transferee. That is what John Rosefield's current predicament is. Adjusting to a new place, a new school, is what he had in mind. But what he didn't expect was to encounter a girl who was already dead. Now, John finds himself involved with someone who is unable to confront a dark, dreary past, helping her confront the regrets that keep her from moving on. While he may be helping the dead find their way forward, he isn't so sure that he knows where he is going himself.

ᴛᴏᴏ ʙᴏʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ ʟᴇʜʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏɴɪɴ ꜱᴇᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴀ ʙᴏᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇᴇʀ, ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀʟᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀᴇᴄᴋᴀɢᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ'ᴠᴇ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇᴅ.

A shard is what remains after something breaks. Not a ruin - a fragment. Irregular, autonomous, complete in itself. Each poem in this collection is a shard: born from a passing image, a sound, a silence - caught before it vanished. No architecture. No continuity. Only the moment of fracture, held still. Silver the Hedgehog moves through each one. He does not explain them. He inhabits them.

Kira is just a normal kid trying to figure out life, dealing with family problems, friendships, and emotions he doesn't always understand. But when strange events begin to unfold, his ordinary life starts to change in ways he never expected. What follows is a journey filled with mystery, adventure, difficult choices, and questions about what it really means to be human. The Absolute Paradox is a story about life, emotions, and the strange things that make us who we are.

Behind the glowing green screens of Kalemistan, a virtual paradise hides a deadly underworld.Mete is a modern Underground Man. Bound to a desk by a chronic spinal illness and fueled by sleepless nights, he watches the internet's dark elite destroy lives for sport. When a young girl named Lila is targeted by Muto's ruthless blackmail syndicate, her sanity is systematically torn apart alive for the amusement of a virtual crowd.Faced with the ultimate threat to his own family, Mete chooses to strike back. Armed with nothing but an ink pen, secret voice recordings, and a fiery Dostoevskian rage, he risks his life to tear down the fake thrones of these digital gods.A gripping psychological thriller that bridges the gap between classic existential literature and modern cyber-terror. How much of your soul are you willing to sacrifice for free chat? work of fiction that tells a profound truth about modern human nature.

Equinox has no memory of being created, nor any idea why they exist. With nothing but a mysterious bell capable of crossing dimensions, they begin wandering from world to world, observing the lives and relationships of those within them. They don't understand love. But they want to.

Just a whole lot of jumbled thoughts that you could maybe call poetry. A lot of heavy topics.

My Soul Dances the Blues No one knows exactly when enitnatsnoC oãoJ began walking backwards. Some say it was the day he buried his own name; others believe he was born that way, doomed to see the world through the reflection of its ruins. This is the story of a man who collects rust instead of memories, smokes to converse with ghosts, and turns every defeat into a song no one ever dared to write. Through cities where the rain smells of nicotine, forgotten bars, and abandoned railway stations, he follows a long road between love, guilt, solitude, and the slow decay of hope. Each chapter follows a track from the album My Soul Dances the Blues, revealing another fragment of his soul. There are no heroes, no happy endings, and no promises of redemption. There is only the blues-the only language capable of translating the weight of remaining alive when everything else has already gone. Because some people do not dance to celebrate. They dance to stop their souls from sinking into silence. And when the final note fades away, you may discover that enitnatsnoC oãoJ was never merely a man. Perhaps he is the part of all of us that keeps walking long after the heart has forgotten how to believe.

a wry, hallucinatory novel about one man's misguided attempt to flee the wreckage of his life - and what he finds instead. Lodge Gratz has had enough. Orphaned, recently divorced, and quietly convinced he's dying of a slow, invisible illness he traces back to the dust of September 11th, Lodge does what any desperate, spiritually curious New Yorker might do: he buys a one-way ticket into the Amazon jungle. What follows is not a neat arc of healing, but a humid, often absurd plunge into ritual, ceremony, and the myth of reinvention. As Lodge stumbles barefoot through the unfamiliar terrain of ayahuasca retreats, silent guides, and his own crumbling psyche, he begins to confront the very thing he was trying to outrun: himself. Told in a voice that's as sharp as it is compassionate, Holidays, Travel, and Other Misconceptions explores how we project meaning onto holidays, travel, and transformation - and how those projections, shaped by personal trauma and cultural noise, often obscure the quieter truths hiding in plain sight. It's a story about grief disguised as escape, about the rituals we inherit and the ones we invent, and about what's left when the curated version of ourselves finally collapses.

Unfortunately, as important as the Bible is, it has become an obstacle to our salvation. It has supplanted regeneration and the spiritual experience of the supernatural with the autarchical authority of scripture. The Bible is a means to an end, not an end in itself. The end is union with Christ!

"Some stories are easy to tell. Some are impossible to put into words. This is one of them." When people ask what happened, I have no answer. I ignore the question, brush it off, pretend it never mattered. But the truth is, I gave everything. And now, I have nothing but memories-memories I refuse to let go of. This is not just about love and loss. It's about the illusion we create, the worlds we build and watch burn, and the chapters we can never bring ourselves to close. A raw, introspective piece on love, regret, and the quiet weight of remembering.

Jhon lives alone. Or at least, that is what he tells himself. He lives inside a tired, yellowed flat where the clock is forever trapped at midnight, seven dead flowers wait in a cracked glass, and cigarette smoke hangs in the rooms like something that refuses to leave. Every morning, Jhon gathers enough courage to imagine another life. A life outside. A life with people. Friends. Laughter. Perhaps even love. Every night, however, the same old ghosts return. Fear. Shame. Desire. Regret. Sadness. They know his name. They know his memories. And, more disturbingly, they seem to know what Jhon refuses to remember. There is a door in the flat. There are seven steps beyond it. There is a woman who appears whenever Jhon begins to believe he might finally escape. There is a pub called The Black Lantern. There are letters he does not remember writing. There are rooms that should not exist. And there is always tomorrow. Tomorrow, Jhon will leave. Tomorrow, Jhon will find someone. Tomorrow, Jhon will finally begin to live. But tomorrow has a peculiar habit of never arriving. Below the Surface is a dark collection of seven narrative fables about loneliness, shame, memory, longing and the strange architecture of the human mind. But beneath the poetry lies another story. A quieter one. A story hidden inside the numbers. Inside the doors. Inside the clock. Inside the things Jhon remembers incorrectly. Every chapter brings him closer to something he has spent years refusing to face. Perhaps the ghosts are haunting Jhon. Perhaps Jhon is haunting the ghosts. Perhaps the door has never been locked. Perhaps it was never a door at all. Seven chapters. Seven steps. Seven memories. And beneath everything Jhon believes he knows... something is waiting. Welcome below the surface.

Beneath the stars, Beatrice and Dolores are friends that sit on a hill and talk about what could happen after someone has died.

This set of remarks is based on the philosophy of Buddhism and Existentialism. It discusses how mans perception holds the key to his happiness. Life can be majestic or distraught, it all depends on how one perceives the world. It consists of 120 pages making reference to capitalism, conformity and a means to improve ones life. Self-improvement starts from ones own heart and branches out from there. This is the second edition of these notes. I revised the earlier edition because I was repeating things. I also cut the number of pages down to 120.

Koleksi tulisan filosofis Vina yang biasanya cuma disimpen di gdoc sendiri :)

When I first met hin in a club in Bali in a stupid pirate constume I could have never guessed that he would change the course of my life. Is it immoral to take things into our own hands instead of waiting for someone to save us? Mixing my crush on Luigi Mangione with my philosophy studies :)

Whatever exists in the unself is probably stuff Thomas already knows. or Virgil gets real eldritchy. or Author projects his identity crisis and fears onto Thomas and the Sanders Sides.