Paranormal
Aldo Tapia
Aldo Tapia
The world is still normal.
The sun still climbs the sky,
Traffic still lingers,
The clock on the wall still ticks as time flows.
The world acts as if nothing has shifted.
But it has.
Your absence bends the air around me
A weight pressing on me in every room
Chairs and doors creak as if asking where you went.
My phone glows, but it’s not your name
I still breathe, but my air is borrowed.
People walk, laugh, move,
Yet they don't notice the ghost beside me,
The empty gap you left.
To everyone, it's a regular day.
To me, I am being haunted.
Jillian Denecke
We live in a world of monsters.
Monsters who think they are human.
They may not outwardly look like monsters at first, but be weary
as they will transform before your very eyes.
The change starts when you first hear them
tell a story which sends goosebumps straight to your skin.
Then in the way their voice sharpens when telling a borderline directed joke
you notice the fangs when they open their mouth to laugh.
Next might be in the poisoned words they spit when talking
about a person from their calculus class
or somebody on the tennis team.
The next time you turn to meet their eyes, they burn a slightly different hue.
The next time you lean in to tell them something you notice the point at the tip of their ear.
The next time you hand them a paper their sharp nails scrape against your skin.
They are no longer human.
I wonder if they ever were.
I know it's possible.
Afterall, I am human.
At least that's how I see myself;
I swallow around pointed fangs,
then I gaze into the mirror to stare
into my eyes, colors mixing within.
Next I run my pointed nails along
the new shape of my ear.
But yet,
there is something almost human in the way my nose glows
a rosey red in the morning weather.
In the way biting into a fresh strawberry encapsulates me with a sense of sticky clarity.
In the way the water drips down from my hair onto my shirt after a long shower.
In the way the smell of the salty sea seems to heal me from my misfortunes.
In the way the warm grass feels as it tickles the bottom of my feet.
In the way I pour love into a recipe every time I bake with someone in mind.
In the way I dive head first into frigid water, relishing in the quiet, only surfacing when my lungs burn with the way they only do when they are begging for oxygen.
In the way I look back at photos taken of me and my friends
In the way our smiles are bright and our laughter loud.
Maybe I do live in a world full of monsters,
yet maybe they are more human than I thought.
Jillian Denecke
I never made it to pastry school.
And I never got to see Italy in the summer
Or Iceland in the winter.
I never got to ice skate on the frozen lake
And I never got to ride that train line.
I’ve never eaten a bagel sandwich in New York
nor looked down from the Golden Gate Bridge
I have yet to backpack Europe, or sleep on a mountain peak.
I put things off
Always betting on another day,
Constantly gambling with the uncertainty of time.
I continue to put them off.
What gives me the confidence to assume another day will be lived?
Time has not yet proved to me its reliability.
So now I will rip each fig from the tree and cherish every sweet drop of the nectar it produces.
I will plant each seed in hopes another tree will sprout.
I will stuff my mouth with fig flavored cookies, jams, and danishes all made with the ripest figs picked from the grandest tree.
I will eat them in every way I can remember: sliced, diced, candied, whole, dried
Aldo Tapia
I look at our picture on my mirror
We were so young
So unprepared for the world ahead
The four of us, tight like peas in a pod -
Nobody could separate us.
I see our smiles,
The smiles that came so easy
Our faces soft, so young
Untouched by time or worry
We looked so sure
That nothing could ever change.
But years have a way of slipping by
Time is so scarce now.
Even the youngest is busier than most
Weeks pass before we are able to see each other
But none of us are to blame.
We aren’t kids anymore
The world is faster, more demanding
The oldest is off to college
Another buried in studies,
And the others caught up in their own little worlds.
It’s a shame we had to grow up
But a blessing we did so together
So I look at the photo again
The image of true happiness frozen in time-
And I smile-
Because at heart, the four of us
Will always be those inseparable little kids
No matter how many years pass by.
Alyssa Adams
This is an abandoned nursing home that resides in Genoa City. Unfortunately, a portion was burned due to arson in 2022: this is a painting showing the building before the incident.
Jillian Denecke
I bite into the present like a ripe peach;
The juice of the past rushing passed my lips and dripping down my chin,
The sweet flesh of the future tasting like a promise on my tongue,
The sun shining onto my face shifting this moment.
My feet grazing the hard cobblestone,
the sand sticking to my calf binding me to this moment.
The half peeled orange sitting on the table in front of me,
half of the slices of possibility peeking out where they can,
The parts ripped from the whole mocking me,
My fingers still sticky with the evidence of the change I’ve been running from.
The leaves of a nearby orange tree branching out
into the vastness of the bright blue bird sky.
Each individual fruit containing an entirely new present.
My eyes burdened with the knowledge of my entire existence, falling
shut heavily with the overly salty breeze.
I reach my hand up to trace the pattern of the crashing waves
as if my fingers have morphed into paintbrushes.
The unpredictability offers me a sense of self;
The contents of all life being made up from parts of this moment.
Amaya Kundert
Why do I say I am okay even when I’m not?
Why do animals have fur?
Why do people stare at me?
What did I do to deserve this?
Why do I always apologize for something that isn’t even my fault?
Why am I told “ I will understand when I am older”?
Why do some people not believe in god?
Why are politics so hard to understand?
Why is life so complicated?
Why do adults say “be happy you're a child”?
Why do I let people play with my heart even when I’ve been through so much?
When am I going to realize I AM ENOUGH?
Layton Peters
It was the winter break of my 8th grade year. I wasn’t a very known person on the ski hill and I didn’t have good style either. But skiing was my passion. It was a powdery day, best for skiing. I remember convincing my parents to take me to the ski hill, even though they said it was far too dangerous to drive. The moment I arrived at the ski hill I knew it was an amazing day for skiing. As I stepped in the snow I sunk down like quicksand. The snow was so deep I could barely put my skis on. The snow clumped on the bottom of my boots. It made me three inches taller.
During all this a kid from my school, Cam, who had brown hair and mean brown eyes, who everyone tried to avoid, started skiing towards me. Cam always made fun of me for my skis and my jacket because they weren’t name brands. He was the type of person to make fun of you for anything. I knew Cam was about to cause a problem so I acted like I didn't see him and started skiing towards a different lift. He sped up and eventually caught up to me. The snow was so thick I could go anywhere. Skiing past me, Cam pushes me over and skis away. I fall into the snow with a quiet thud. The snow was so deep and thick it held me down like vines. I sank deeper, deeper and deeper. As I struggle to pull myself out I look up to see my friend Charlie, who is a lot older and stronger than me, pick me up out of the snow. I looked up to Charlie because he could land some insane tricks. I wanted to learn these tricks one day. I thanked him and we skied off to the terrain park. Meanwhile Cam is sending backflips off a jump. He's been trying for years and still hasn’t landed. I’ve only tried once and I failed miserably. I contemplated on trying again but Cam saw me looking and said, “You’ll never land one in your life”. I lost all my confidence at that moment. Charlie then says, “Don’t listen to him, he's been trying for two years and still hasn’t gotten close”. He then encouraged me to full send it and in that moment I started my run up gaining speed, deep breaths, right up to the jump I close my eyes as I flip through the air, wind swooshing by, I think to myself "this is about to end up like last time and I should have never tried. This will be another reason for Cam to bully me". I wait for my skis to hit the snow and send my face into the snow ,but then, I don’t. I felt my skis land and glide across the snow. I opened my eyes. I landed my first ever back flip!
Right after landing Charlie and many others start celebrating with me. Including the one person who doubted me, Cam. I knew if I said anything he would cause more problems so I didn’t. Afterwards, they showed me the video. It was so sick. I then helped Cam by telling him what he needed to do to land the backflip. He tried but failed. I kept encouraging him to send it and he eventually landed. I remember skiing down as the first person to celebrate with him. Cam and I resolved conflict by landing insane tricks. From then on we sent backflips together never having a problem between each other again. In conclusion, don’t judge a book by its cover. Or, in this story, don’t judge a skier based on their style.
Meah Gallo
I remember when I was eight, and sitting in the wooden chair that always made your bum hurt if you sat there for too long, and after it felt like an eternity staring at those green walls when finally my hairdresser came in the kitchen and I said, “Chop it off.”
For my whole life I always had hair down to my waist, or even my thighs. My hair was a brown, tangled and matted greasy mess that I always kept in a braid down my back. Around every two months, my mom’s friend Monica would come to our house and cut a half an inch of my and my sister's long hair. Monica would always cut a little more off than my mom would approve of because I've always dreamed about having short hair, but of course that would be my mom’s worst nightmare.
In August of 2019, I was back in that wooden chair, staring at the wall and swatting a fly buzzing around me. Monica walked up to me, and my mom headed to the bathroom, and she said to me, “How much do you want off this time MB?” As always, I would smile, and point to my shoulder jokingly. Monica gave me a mischievous smile, and said, “Your wish is my command.” I shut my eyes as she wet my hair. The mist hits my ear and makes me shiver, then she does a quick brush through, and then snip... sniip... sniiip...
My mom walked in, and looks like she's seen a ghost. She said, “What happened?” with a quiver in her voice sounding like she wants to cry. Monica looked up with a grin. I asked if it looked good. Monica eventually finishes my hair and shows me; I was amazed, with my side bangs and shoulder length hair. My mom loved it, but was still upset with me. There I was, swinging my feet and holding a footlong braid, looking like the happiest kid ever.
To this day, I still think about that memory when I get my hair cut, and when my mom tells me, “Not too much this time.” Sometimes when I see Monica, I’d jokingly say, “Chop it off,” just to get a laugh out of her. Even now, I’m glad I made that decision.
Alyssa Adams
This is a self narrative portrait with Alyssa's interests strone around it, such as gardening, music, camping, ect., all mixed to make a whimsical and fun portrait.
Sally Gowan
Makayla Gerling
Stuck up. That is what they called me. You have the nerve to talk about other people behind their backs and bully them to their faces. You beat their pride and bruised their confidence, and yet you call them arrogant? You ever wonder why we seem conceited? It’s because of people like you! You are the reason people act “stuck up” or “antisocial” or “weird”. In reality, we’re not. You have damaged our self confidence because someone has damaged yours, and now we feel the need to build ourselves back up so we can try to impress you. You are still not impressed. We are antisocial because you call us freaks and ignore us as we try to speak. You don’t hear us. We are weird because we don’t fit your normal, as we try. But, we shouldn’t have to change ourselves to impress you. We are ‘weird’ because we have different interests. We are ‘antisocial’ because you don’t talk to us, and we are afraid of being bullied for talking. We are all kinds of things, things that you don’t see. We are intelligent, we are talented, we are beautiful and handsome, we are what you are not. And you dare judge us for such differences? You dare call us ‘stuck up’ as you do a catwalk down a dog kennel! As you tune us out when we try to tune you in! As you mock us after you caused us pain and misery! We are not the ones who are stuck up. I sit and watch you as you perfectly perfect your staged lines-- oh, your bittersweet act. One minute you’re giving someone compliments and the next you’re stabbing their back for being different. Well, I tell you, you are stuck up! You expect us to be like you, and we have tried for so long. But after watching you walk with boots on the prickly surface we have walked barefoot, we decide we do not want to be like you. Because we have suffered far more than you will ever know. Now, as we continue to walk on the edge, we realize we are enough. We are all enough! Now, to you I say ‘fall and drown in your own molasses stickiness’ as to the others of us, the underdogs, the weirdos, the antisocials, the intelligents, the different, I say, "Rise Up!" Stuck up. We are not stuck up. We are rising up. And your sad attempts to put us down are no longer working. We are invincible. You….are stuck up.
Naomi Tost
In the fabric of time,
I’m stuck in a loop.
Searching for answers,
I’m running through time for you.
My voice echoes in solitude
Through vast, empty rooms.
I’m asking, I’m calling,
I’m running through time for you.
My body is airborne in waves
Of impossible hues.
Though facing pain without measure,
I’m running through time for you.
Hurtling down strange passages,
Disoriented, confused; but
You’re all that’s on my mind,
I’m running through time for you.
Where is your era
In history’s great volume?
I’m ignorant but yet,
I’m running through time for you.
At the end of the day,
My energy consumed,
I’ve not given up hope that
I’ll one day find you.
No matter what,
By circumstances true,
I know with all my heart
I’ll be beside you.
Dakota Barkwill
In what world will I thrive?
I don’t know if it's this one
Ideas for my essay, ideas for my essay…
how do I want to open?
Alright, I need a list–
the sound of the girl chewing next to me
Alright, a list–
Papers crinkling, a whisper
First on the list:
study for algebra
study for—
“Is it working now?”
“And I was greener, greener than a hill…”
Wait, did I do the dishes?
F***, what's wrong with me?
I’m stretched too thin
how could I possibly thrive?
And where…
Third on the list
I
don’t
know
The room is too warm
What was I supposed to be doing?
Right, the teacher’s still talking
Alright, focus
The teacher’s voice fades in and out
Then completely out
That damn light keeps flickering
Thoughts scamper around like bugs
I’m infested
I’m here and–
I’m there
My teeth ache from the grinding
Where do I go?
Where do I go?
I have a heart,
I have a brain
But it’s just not the same
I fear god
but I don’t believe in him
I fear the dark
but I know there's nothing there
I fear I won’t succeed
but I know I will
I’m a long, long hallway
every door is open,
sometimes half open
Voices tumble out from them
birds chirping,
a song,
a story…
my mother
With all this noise
how could I possibly handle the noise of life?
My computer is humming
just enough for me to hear it–
“Please get out your notebooks,”
Right, right…
Okay, now focus
Alexia Anaya
Anytime I was suspected of any wrongdoing, such as disobeying my mom’s direct orders, as if I were some soldier of hers, I was sent to confess to a priest who symbolized God at the moment. I was still a child, innocent and pure, yet I was confused about why I had to confess every time I made a mistake. I had to remind myself that although my mother saw me as someone sinful, I was just a child; I was bound to slip up, act childish, and throw tantrums. I was only a kid living life for the first time.
Alexia Anaya
The harshness we witness and experience in the real world leaks into our nightmares. I’m an extremely paranoid and panicky person; I am paralyzed by my nightmares that occur concerningly frequently. I imagine my heart feeling great sorrow. These distressing dreams devastate me, leaving me gasping for more air once I wake; they aren’t just conjured in my sleep, but instead, they are influenced by actuality.
Makayla Gerling
“Is that all you got?” Duke asked as he pinned me to the ground and held his sword against my chest sideways as I struggled to push him off. My tribe, Trius II, has been at war with Duke’s tribe, Locust IV, for thousands of years. An ongoing civil war for power. Both tribes possessed supernatural abilities, but it has been prohibited until recently. Surprisingly, Duke decided not to use his on me this time.
“No!” I said fiercely, using my telekinesis to lift a large rock and fling it at Duke, knocking him off of me and unconscious.
“Buck!” Motor, my caretaker and fellow alien called. “Look up!”
Motor was from another planet, LAO 4, and was a life form, much like me, but in a vehicular form.
I followed Motor’s command and looked upwards at the large vortex, black hole, above my planet.
“Mother!” I exclaimed, rushing up to my mother, Queen Lue III. “What are we going to do?”
“My beautiful baby,” Mother said. “I know this is difficult. But you must go. You must live on. This black hole will soon destroy us. You are our only hope.”
“But mother!” I pleaded. “I do not wish to leave. I must fight.”
“No, Buck,” Mother said. “You must go. Motor will care for you. Please….you must….go.”
Suddenly Mother collapsed. I felt the energy draining from my body as well.
“Come on,” Motor said. “We have to go now, Buck. The vortex will drain all of your energy soon, and you will die off much like everyone else.”
I hesitated. “Buck, no. Come on. NOW.”
I agreed and got into Motor's cabin. His wings extended out from under his chassis and his rocket boosters came out of the rear. Then, we were off the planet. The last thing I remember was seeing Nendone 10 being ripped brutally apart by the vortex.
One Day Later
“Buck,” Motor said. “We’re approaching Earth. I think I’ve been to this planet before. A long time ago. With Sir Hemsworth.”
“How long?” I asked.
“1959,” Motor answered. “However, it seems far more advanced now.”
I looked out Motor’s windshield at the green and blue planet below us and watched as the ground got closer until we finally landed. I stepped out as a woman ran into me, not even acknowledging my existence.
“What shall we do?” I asked. “We will stick out like sore thumbs now.”
“Well,” Motor said. “Humans on this planet, about your age, usually go to school during the day and do leisurely activities on the weekends.”
“So that means I must go to an educational facility?” I asked.
“Yes,” Motor said. “I will find the nearest one.”
Motor tucked his wings back under his chassis and pulled up alongside the curb to the nearest educational facility. “Here we are,” he said, letting me out. “You are on your own until the end of the day, where I’ll come back and pick you up. Good luck, Buck.”
“Many thanks,” I said, taking a deep breath and walking into the school.
“Hi,” a female human greeted me from the front desk. “How can I help?”
“Hello,” I said quickly, caught off guard. “My name is Buck Sentry, I’m a transfer student from….Nendone high school.”
“Where is that?” The lady asked.
“It is in…Nebraska,” I said.
“Oh,” the lady said, typing onto her computer. “Well, we don’t have any transfer notices for anyone named Buck from Nebraska, but I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you follow me and I’ll get you situated with a schedule?”
“That would be much appreciated,” I said. “Thank you.”
“No trouble,” The lady said. “Come with me.”
The lady, who when she stood up was much taller than I had originally anticipated, must have been the dean of the school. As I followed her down the long corridor, I noticed her hair was tied into a greasy bun and she wore glasses that were too big for her face.
“Here we are,” she said, opening the door to a classroom. “Everyone, this is Buck. Buck, this is your Biology class. And your teacher, Mrs. Evermore.”
“Oh how wonderful!” Mrs. Evermore said. “We’re just starting our frog dissection unit. Why don’t you go sit with…Paige. Paige, wave!”
Paige didn’t wave, she just simply said “sit”, so I did.
“What is a frog?” I asked.
“Dude,” Paige said. “Are you from another planet or something? How do you not know what a frog is?”
I froze. “How did you know?!”
“What?” Paige asked. “Anyway, we’re supposed to cut open this frog and take its insides out, but I think that’s mean, so I’m not doing it.”
“Loser,” a kid at the other table across from us said. “The frog’s dead. It won’t even notice.”
“Shut up, Billy.”
Suddenly there was a loud chiiiiing that hurt my over sensitive ears. I looked up to see that everyone was leaving the room, and I assumed it was the end of the day. I walked down the corridor before Billy pushed me up against the locker.
“Hey new guy!” He spat in my face. “You think you can just walk around looking all tough?”
“No,” I said. “I was not looking tough.”
“Hey!” Paige said. “Leave him alone, Billy.”
Billy let go of me and turned to walk away. Paige grabbed my hand and helped me up.
“I’m heading to the animal shelter,” Paige said. “Do you want to come?”
“Sure,” I said. “That sounds like the ginchiest idea.”
“Ginchiest?” Paige asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well. You certainly are an interesting one.”
“Do you not use that terminology any longer?” I asked.
“No,” Paige said. “Usually we just say ‘cool’ or ‘awesome’.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Where did you say you were from?” Paige asked.
“I am from Nendo-Nebraska! I am from Nebraska.”
“That’s cool,” Paige said. “I’m from here. I’ve lived here in Vegas for my entire life. Do you have any family? Siblings? Parents?”
“Not anymore,” I said. “I live with my car-caretaker! My caretaker, Motor.”
“Oh,” Paige said. “I live here with my step dad. My dad disappeared when I was six, and my Mom died a few years ago from cancer.”
“Oh,” I said. “I am deeply saddened to hear such terrible news.”
“Oh my God!” Paige exclaimed, laughing. “Why do you talk like that?”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like a nerd,” Paige said. “Talk normally.”
“I do not understand what you are-”
“Buck!” I heard Motor shout as he pulled up alongside me.
“Motor!” I snapped. “Now is not a good time. I am having a discussion.”
“Wait,” Paige said, stopping. “That’s a motor? He’s a car! What are you hiding, Buck Sentry?”
“Well if you must know,” I said. “I am a life form from the planet of Nendone 10. Motor here has been my caretaker. My tribe is…was at war for a long time, with a neighboring tribe. Until a vortex…black hole…it destroyed my planet. As far as I know, I am the last remaining Nendonian.”
“An alien?!” Paige asked. “No. Way. This is so awesome! I can’t wait to tell everyone and…umph-”
“No!” I hissed, placing a hand over Paige’s mouth. “You must not tell anyone. I will be sent to a lab and dissected. That is what happened to Kingston.”
“Okay!” Paige said, throwing her hand up. “I won’t tell!”
“Thank you,” I said. “Now. I do believe Motor and I need a place to stay.”
“Hmm,” Paige said, stroking her chin. “You can’t stay with me. My dad doesn’t let men in the house. But I know a place, a good one.”
“This?” I asked. “It is much…cleaner…than I expected.”
“Yeah,” Paige said. “I stay here a lot. It helps me think. Anyway, make yourselves at home. Wait, do you have any superpowers?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Suddenly something came flying towards me, and with a swift move of my fingers, it was re-directed.
“So you do have powers!” Paige exclaimed. “Telekinesis. What else?”
“I fly,” I said. “And I can become invisible, except not often. It drains much of my energy. Are those not normal human traits?”
“No!” Paige said. “That’s so cool though. You’ll have to show me sometime. Anyway, goodnight.” Paige turned and left.
“Is that your girlfriend?” Motor asked in his usual nonchalant voice.
“No!” I said, not even sure if it was the correct answer. “She is merely a companion.”
“Sure,” Motor said. “But now, Nendone is destroyed. You don’t have a home. I don’t have a home.”
“Earth will have to be our home now. And we’ll protect them from what threatens their planet.”
Buck Sentry? Interesting. Bring him to me. I need a new experiment.
To Be Continued...
Lucas Winter
I reach for stars, yet none seem close—
Their cold light echoes far from me,
Like memories swirling endlessly,
A void where all my feelings go.
The sky is darker now, I know,
Each moonlit trace a shadow’s sign,
A pulse once steady, now confined,
As time just slips, then fades below.
Inside my chest, an endless sea—
The tide is pulled by silent force,
A rift that’s strong, yet never coarse,
It pulls something further into me.
I wander through this blackened hole,
The nothingness that burns the soul.
Like planets lost or stars that fall,
A single point that swallows all
Perhaps a rift to somewhere new,
But far too cold for me to breathe
The emptiness has made me seethe,
Yet still I search for something true.
An orbit spent in endless flight,
Forever spinning out of sight.
Each moment that I thought was right,
Just folds me into a smaller night.
That point at when we were pulled
Nothing I could do, I was fooled
All together like gravity
The instance being a true tragedy
So here I wait, within this fold,
A fractured piece of time now growing old.
Lucas Winter
Ontology as a term is defined as a branch of philosophy concerned with the nature of being, identity, and existence, and becomes a powerful narrative tool when applied to literature and storytelling. The natural questions that come with the topic being a pinch of flavor to add onto the inquiry of existence. Authors use ontological themes to illuminate a character’s inner life, frame their existential questions, complicate their understanding of reality, deepen the philosophical dimensions of a fictional world, along with elaborating on a character’s traits, psyche, and psychological profiles. By exploring how characters interrogate their perception of reality, grapple with their existential purpose, define their identity, develop worldbuilding, and use self-awareness in the story is how authors are able to construct narratives that reflect deeper philosophical inquiries. Thus, ontology in literature becomes a powerful tool for examining not only fictional worlds but all the human condition itself.
One of the most prominent ways ontology appears in literature is through the existential dilemmas of characters as they confront their own existence and identity. For example, Shakespeare’s Hamlet offers a quintessential example of an author using the topic of Ontology in a way to formulate a psychological story. In Hamlet’s Act III soliloquy, the scene is in the form of a target, where Hamlet talks to himself and monologues about his conflict, with parts of the dialogue containing some ontological undertones. The famous line “to be or not to be: that is the question,” along with other pieces of dialogue, shows how Hamlet’s situation provoked such ontological reflection. To be a person who questions the meaning of life and how it coincides with the terrifying reality of death and the afterlife. And how, even if he considered death and the satisfaction it would bring from the heartaches he’s had, the apprehension towards the unearthly unknown is a reason why humans choose to endure such hardships. Through such an introspective journey, literature uses ontology as a way to shape how a character reflects on the deeper philosophical tensions of the human experience.
Beyond character development, ontology plays a crucial role in how fictional universes are constructed and how the rules of existences are defined. This concept often manifests through the story’s worldbuilding and its effect on the story’s constitution. In worlds shaped by manipulation and hegemonic structures, characters are often forced to engage in self-reflection on their place within these systems. A famous example of this is the movie The Truman Show. The way The Truman Show portrays this concept is how Truman slowly comes to an understanding in the movie about his utter reality and existence as a whole. The story does this by containing multiple scenes in the movie that start Truman off as an average guy who works an average life and has friends. But once the cracks in the sky start to show is when the movie has a more existential and psychological undertone. This underlying theme leads to Truman becoming increasingly unhinged, paranoid, and acting completely out of character as a way to cope and navigate his disillusionment. This is most prominent in the scene where Truman is doing donuts in the parking lot while the world is emanating screams of confusion. The story uses the world and Truman to reveal how the world might look from a nontraditional, philosophical perspective, and beyond conventional perception. In this case, ontological themes challenge the characters and the audience to reconsider the very structure of reality.
Metafiction takes this exploration even further by giving characters direct awareness of their fictional status. This technique collapses the boundary between fiction and reality, creating a sense that the characters are not only subjects of a narrative but observers of it. When narrators break the fourth wall or comment on their own narrative construction, the boundary between fiction and reality deliberately dissolves. If someone understands that they are merely a construct, their purpose, autonomy, and identity must be reinterpreted through that lens. Therefore, this creates a unique ontological tension: if a fictional character knows they are a construct, what does “existence” mean for them? Slaughterhouse-Five embodies this idea through its fragmented structure and time-bending narrative. The protagonist’s looping journey through trauma becomes not just a war story but an ontological awakening, one that questions not only how someone can exist within a story but how stories themselves exist. This metafictional framing allows the story to explore trauma, memory, and survival through an ontological lens, with Billy navigating not only the horrors of war but the instability of existence itself. In this way, metafiction uses self-awareness to raise ontological questions about identity, agency, and the nature of being within a fabricated universe.
In conclusion, ontology in literature provides a profound framework through which authors investigate existence, identity, and the nature of reality. Whether through the introspective crisis of Hamlet, the unsettling artificiality of Truman’s world, or the metafictional self-awareness of Slaughterhouse-Five, ontological storytelling urges readers to reflect on their own perceptions of being. These works highlight the instability, uncertainty, and complexity inherent to being, inviting readers to engage with questions that transcend the boundaries of the story. Literature thus becomes more than a vehicle for narrative entertainment; it becomes a philosophical instrument, prompting deep reflection on the nature of reality, the limits of perception, and the fundamental experience of being human. Literature, in this sense, becomes more than narrative entertainment—it becomes a philosophical exploration of what it means to exist.