Writing a novel..I think

recently started a new book and I'm not exactly sure what direction I'm going in but I will include a little snippet:

Do you ever wonder what happens when you cross over to the other side? Where your soul goes. . . or if it even goes anywhere at all? Is there a God? A Devil? To keep it short and sweet, it depends on what you believe in when you die. How do I know? Well, because I'm the one who evaluates you before you can cross over. I would introduce myself but I can't. I have no name, no history, no . . . story. I don’t even have a form, I’m only my voice. And I use it to ask you people this question every millisecond: 

“What is it that you believe in?” My voice has grown tired and monotone after spending millennia asking this question. I have never known a life outside of this question. Life, ha, as if I’d know.

“Where am I?” I hate this question.

“You are nowhere. What is it that you believe in?”

“T-That doesn’t make sense! Where am I!? Who are you!?”

I let out a deep exhausted sigh. If I could pinch my nose I would. “You are nowhere,” I repeat with agitation, “I am no one. What is it that you believe in?” I can’t speak any other words outside of “what do you believe in” unless I am asked a direct question, and right now, this guy is asking all the wrong questions

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