Sickness unto Nothingness

A Short Story

Nov 09, 2025

Prologue

Weather is a fickle thing. The sun was shining when I hopped on the subway, but as I get off at Grand Central, the sidewalk meets me with a monsoon.

East coast summers are like that.

The storm seems like it will pass soon, I am jogging towards my favorite coffee shop down Park Ave. A PE teacher once told me it doesn’t matter if you run or walk in the rain you’ll get the same amount of wet. For a long time, I believed him.

The shop is near (thank God). I swing open the door and am met by two opposing smells—coffee (obviously), and wait, cigarette smoke? This may be New York, but it’s not 1952. In the corner by the window are two men in an intense conversation. One in a black trench coat nervously taps his fingers, while the other wearing glasses takes a drag from a cigarette.

I walk over to the counter to order a cortado, and ask the barista, “What’s the deal with those guys in the corner?”

He scoffs, “Those two have been at it all afternoon. I went over an hour ago to ask him to put out the cigarettes, but he just went on and on, telling me I was living in “bad faith,” denying my own freedom and agency. Probably some meme philosopher pretending he’s in a café in Paris.”

“Gotcha,” I say casually. Grabbing my cortado I decide to get a little closer and take the table next to them.

Act I: The Absurd

Leaning forward, he taps ashes into an amber glass ashtray (I assume he brought it himself). Then he speaks to the other man, “I have you to thank really. The ghost from the past who made the absurd a reality. When I came in for espresso, which is morose at best, I knew you looked familiar. It was the brooding, long black cloak, and worn out Bible that made me realize it. I read you long ago, something about trembling and sickness. You were the one who invented despair.”

“I didn’t invent it. I just stopped pretending it was avoidable.” Retorted the man in the cloak.

“Well, you name the absurd before any of us, the difference is (as he pointed with his cigarette towards the Bible on the table) you thought God could solve it. I’ve spent my life proving He can’t.”

With a smirk the man in the cloak responded, “How has that gone? Have you succeeded yet?”

Setting his glasses on the table by his ashtray he replied, “I’ve made peace with meaninglessness. That’s what freedom is.”

“Freedom? That’s exhaustion playing dress up in philosophy. True freedom is surrender. You speak as if the absence of God makes you strong. But it looks like it only makes you lonely.” Said the man in the cloak.

Quick was the response back, “And you speak as if faith makes you brave. But it only makes you afraid of being alone.”

I flip open my iPad to appear as if I am not entranced by whatever is going on in the corner. Both men seem to reflect the same fear. They’re searching for a way to live with the absurd, and each pretending they’d already found it.

Shaking ashes of the Bible, the man with the cloak said, “Perhaps we are not so different, you and I. We both stand before the same void. Only, when I shout into it, I hear God whisper.”

“And when I shout into it, I don’t pretend I am not hearing my own voice.” Said the other.

Act II: The Debate

Outside, the rain has slowed, but the tension in the corner has not. A match strikes, another cigarette lights up. The man in the cloak watches the smoke spiral upward and out of existence, as if he is somewhere else in time.

After a few puffs the first man speaks, “You think freedom means obedience, I think it means standing on your own two feet, even when the ground gives way.”

“And I think standing alone is the illusion that destroys you. Faith isn’t the death of freedom, it’s the only way to make sense of it.” Responded the man in the cloak.

“Ah, I guess you are right. Faith is surrender. What a beautiful way to hide from responsibility. You simply say God wills it, and stop choosing. You become a child again, or perhaps childish.” Said the man with the cigarette.

I was waiting for an angry retort back, but instead the man in the cloak responded, “No, my friend. Faith is choosing in spite of reason, not instead of it. It’s the courage to jump when the ground is gone. To say “Yes” where logic says “No.” That’s not childishness. It’s the faith to leap.”

Pulling on his cigarette he exhaled smoke, then half laughter, half cough, “Trust in what you can’t see? That’s not courage, it’s the facade of comfort, freeing you from dealing with reality.”

“I see.” Said the man in the cloak. “You treat freedom as if it’s an animal to wrestle to the ground. One you must control. That sounds like the path of convenience. Do you know what it costs to believe? To trust the unseen more than what you can touch? Faith is many things, comfort is not one of them.”

The man with the cigarette stared at the ashtray, “Then maybe that’s the difference. You worship the wound. I look to move on from it.”

“And yet you seem to limp all the same.” Responding to the man with the cloak.

The first man looked up from the ashtray—half offended, half impressed.

“Tell me something. If faith is the answer, why is the world still absurd? Why do those who ‘leap’ suffer the same silence as the rest of us?” Saying as he sent smoke to the ceiling.

“Because faith doesn’t remove the absurd, but redeems it. Faith doesn’t silence God’s absence, it dares to love Him through it. Despair says, “There is no meaning.” Faith whispers, “There must be.”” Responded the man in the cloak.

“And if you’re wrong? If there’s no one listening?”

“Then my leap was still worth it. Because it made me love what I could not prove. And that even if it ends in nothing, is everything.” Retorted the man in the cloak.

Leaning back, a cigarette burned down to his fingers, he flicks it into the tray.

The man in the cloak continued, “You think I believe because it’s easy. But I believe, because I can’t stop asking. And you (gesturing towards the other man), you don’t believe, because you can’t stop answering.”

A faint smile emerged on the face of the man with the cigarette, “Maybe we’re both prisoners of the same question?”

“Then perhaps the question is God.” Said the man in the cloak.

It was an odd affair to witness, two men opposed to each other and yet the debate felt more like a confession than an argument.

Act 3: The Mirror

The café was almost empty. Those who ducked in to avoid the rain, went back to their lives. Outside the rain had become a mist.

“Tell me, did you ever stop doubting? Or did you just think praying through it was all that was required?” Asked the man with the cigarette.

“Doubt never leaves. However, it stops being the enemy. Faith isn’t certainty. It’s trust in the dark.” Said the man in the cloak as he gazed at the mist out the window.

“And obedience to an other feels like betrayal to me. I have fought too long to belong to no one. Even God. Especially God.” The man with the cigarette retorted quickly.

“And I fought too long to belong to Him. Seems we are both exhausted.” The man with the cloak responded with a smile.

The first man changed the subject, to regain the upper hand, “You loved someone once?” As he shook a match out.

The man in the cloak’s expression tightened.

He nodded, “I loved her enough to lose her. Because I believed God wanted me whole, not happy. That was my leap… and my punishment.”

“And you still think that was divine will?” The first man responded as he cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief.

“No. I think it was the only way I knew how to stay faithful.” Said the man in the cloak.

“You see? That’s why I can’t believe. Faith demands too much blood.” Said the man with the cigarette.

“And you demand too little. You want heaven on your own terms. You’ve mistaken rebellion for righteousness.” Said the man in the cloak.

“Maybe rebellion is all that’s left when heaven stays silent.” Responded the man with the cigarette.

“Or maybe silence is heaven, waiting to see if you’ll still listen.” Said the man with the cloak as he lifted his cup to his lips.

After taking a sip, he continued, “You talk about man creating himself, but even your freedom bows to something. The applause of others. The pursuit of meaning. The fear of being forgotten. The freedom you speak of is not freedom at all, we all worship something.”

“And you think your faith is free from that? You’re terrified of the same thing only you call it sin.” Said the man with the cigarette.

“Perhaps. But I would rather tremble before God than leap into nothingness.”