A Story of Nothingness and Everything in Between

The day was bright but meaningless. The sky stretched overhead, vast and blue, but for what purpose? No one knew, least of all Sull Kaak, who had spent his entire life pondering the great paradox of existence, only to conclude that the paradox itself was a meaningless contrivance of a mind too stubborn to accept that it knew nothing.

And that was the problem. Knowing nothing meant you could know everything, and knowing everything meant you were back to knowing nothing. A vicious cycle, as pointless as a dog chasing its own tail, except the dog at least got some exercise. Sull Kaak, meanwhile, sat in a broken chair, staring at a wall that wasn’t there.

Yes, the wall had once been there. But now it was gone. Demolished by progress. Or was it modernism? Or materialism? Or perhaps feminism? He couldn’t be sure. One day he was staring at a fine piece of brickwork, and the next day, poof! A Starbucks had taken its place. Now the only walls left were the ones in his mind, and those were crumbling too, under the weight of meaninglessness.

A bird landed on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear.

“You are not real,” the bird said.

Sull Kaak pondered this deeply. “Neither are you,” he replied.

“Fair point,” said the bird, and disappeared into a puff of existential dread.

The story had no plot, no direction, and yet it trudged forward like an elderly camel in the desert of despair. Somewhere, someone was probably drinking tea. Somewhere else, someone was probably losing faith in religion. These things happened. But did they matter?

Sull Kaak thought not.

The problem, he realized, was that everything had become too absurd. Modern man had killed God, buried Him under a pile of self-help books, and declared the world a free market of ideas. The result? Confusion. Chaos. Cultural annihilation, neatly packaged in Instagram reels.

“Nothing means anything anymore,” Sull Kaak muttered to himself.

“Wrong!” a man screamed, running past him naked except for a pair of pink socks. “Everything means nothing!”

And with that, the man vanished into a shopping mall.

Sull Kaak decided to walk. Walking was good. It had no purpose but kept the legs busy. He wandered through the streets, past the neon signs flashing meaningless slogans. “SALE! BUY ONE, GET ONE FREE!” Free what? A soul? A purpose? No one knew.

A billboard loomed ahead, declaring:
“MODERNITY: NOW IN NEW FLAVORS!”

Sull Kaak sighed. Modernity had indeed come in new flavors. And they all tasted like cardboard.

At a street corner, a group of skeptics was having an argument with a postmodernist.

“Truth is relative!” shouted one skeptic.

“Truth is a social construct!” replied the postmodernist.

“No, no,” interrupted a materialist. “Truth is whatever we can buy on Amazon!”

“Truth is dead,” said a nihilist, sipping an overpriced latte.

Sull Kaak continued walking. The conversation did not interest him. He had heard it all before. Many times. Too many times.

Somewhere, someone was probably watching Netflix. Somewhere else, someone was probably questioning the concept of good and evil while eating gluten-free pizza. Such was the world.

Sull Kaak found himself in front of an old mosque. It was abandoned, turned into an art gallery. Inside, paintings of influencers taking selfies were displayed under the title: “The Death of Meaning: An Artistic Interpretation.”

A young man with blue hair approached him. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Of what?” Sull Kaak replied.

“Of everything.”

Sull Kaak shrugged. “I think nothing matters, and that matters more than anything.”

The young man’s eyes widened in enlightenment. He immediately opened an Instagram account dedicated to existential crisis quotes and gained one million followers in an hour.

Meanwhile, Sull Kaak walked out. He had no destination, no purpose, no mission. Just a nagging feeling that somewhere, someone was probably debating the validity of objective morality over a bowl of vegan ramen.

And so he walked. The sky remained blue, the earth remained round, and the world continued to spin on its axis, completely oblivious to the fact that none of it made any sense.

Not that it needed to.

The End. Or the Beginning. Or neither. Who cares?

Disclaimer: This piece of fiction has been creating from scratch using Chat GPT fed with all of Sull Kaak’s written work.