New Reality: Truth (20 page)
All except one.
Having locked the screen hours ago, she continued to stare at Jake lying on the floor of the bus. Her boss had gone to lunch that morning, and she was waiting for him to return.
When she finally felt him walk up behind her, she kept her eyes on the image of the broken man. "Jake Weston." She said it so quietly it sounded like a low growl. "I've been watching this one for a while. There were things keeping him stuck in his negative projection. His imagined best friend. The city he chose to stay in. Some weird creature things following him. As I watched, those things eventually changed, but he still didn't pull out of it."
Her boss's heavy hand rested on her shoulder. "There's nothing you can do for a negative projection, Marie. There's no one thing dragging them down. You could take away every element of their experience, and they'd simply refill it with another miserable projection. Termination is the only way." Laughing, he squeezed his grip. The cruelty in his tone sent a cold chill running through her. "At least you've popped your cherry. Your first termination is a big deal."
When her boss leaned forward, the smell of his morning coffee and fried food filled her space. As his fat arm stretched over her, she wanted to grab it, but she didn't; she didn't have the authority to question his decision.
Wringing her hands to stop them from doing anything stupid, she watched her boss double tap the screen and press his thumb against it when he was prompted for his fingerprint.
A panel of buttons filled her monitor. She knew of them only by reputation. There was just one she cared about. It was a big red cross in the centre of the screen.
As if in slow motion, her boss moved towards it, his index finger outstretched.
With her stomach churning and her heart beating in her throat, she watched his pudgy finger. Seconds before he pressed it, she closed her eyes, her entire frame sagging.
I'm sorry, Jake. I'm so sorry.
###
The flower continued to bask in its spotlight of sun, and Jake watched it with a wide grin stretching across his face. Dust clung to his tear-dampened cheeks.
Flinching, Jake shook his head and blinked several times.
Then it came again, like a punch on the nose. The Rixon logo.
Shaking his head, Jake felt dizzy.
It flashed through his vision again.
Rixon
.
Every time the black background and red writing shot into view, it was like being kicked in the face. He flinched with every flash and looked at the Rixon Tower. It changed form, widening and shrinking as if it were being sucked into the ground.
Rixon
.
A loud and continuous tone went off in his head. It was deep, shaking his vision as it reverberated through his skull. Everything spun, the outer edges of Jake's world turning the fastest, the horizon now nothing more than a blur. It was like being in the eye of a storm. He looked down at the flower. It was the only thing in the world not spinning. It was resolute and in control. It was at the centre of the chaos. It was the ringmaster, not Jake.
Rixon.
Rixon.
The physics of his world turned on its head and debris and rubbish floated all around him. Jake expected to see a cow flying backwards and wondered if he'd wake up in OZ.
Every smell he'd ever experienced hit him in the face and he retched. His nostrils funneled the sharp rotting tang straight into his body. It felt like being gassed.
Rixon
.
Feeling like his stomach had been torn out, Jake stared at his feet.
Rixon.
Rixon.
Rixon.
With wide eyes, he looked out over to where the tower was. All he saw was a grey blur as the horizon span faster. The motion made him want to vomit.
Rixon.
Overcome by dizziness and feeling like he'd fall at any second, he shouted, "You fucking arseholes!"
Rixon.
Rixon.
Rixon.
Tom had never existed. Rory had never existed. Thalia had never existed. Nothing was real.
The strobing of the Rixon logo made Jake close his eyes. Unable to stop the branding of his corporate overlord, he could at least shut out the desolate world surrounding him.
Then he thought about Tom's theory, which was, in fact, his own. If he experienced it, then it was real. He nodded and raised his voice; his throat wasn't parched anymore.
"Fuck you, Rixon! I've found nature, and no matter what you do, you can't take that away from me."
The logo stayed longer every time it appeared, and all of the aches and pains in his body had vanished. His hand was no longer bandaged, and there was no sign of injury.
Throwing his middle finger up in the direction of the tower, he continued, "I beat your stupid fucking game!" Looking at the sky again, he said, "I've won, Tom. No matter what they do, they can't take this experience away from me. I perceived it, so that's all that matters, right? You existed. You, Rory, and Thalia were real. I'm the one who chooses my reality, not them."
His legs then buckled beneath him, and he fell to the side as the Rixon logo dominated his vision for about ten seconds. When the world reappeared, his face was just millimeters from the delicate flower. As he stared at it, the edges of his view darkened and closed in.
Soon, all that was left of the flower was a pinprick of pink. A smile sat on his face. The past several years were real because he'd given them permission to be real.
He'd won.
His world then went black.
No sight...
No sound...
No smell...
No taste...
No feeling...
...Logged off.
Ends.
"Nothing is true, everything is permitted."
Friedrich Nietzsche.
Read More Work by Michael Robertson
Crash - Book One
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Crash - Book Two
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About the Author
Michael Robertson has been a writer for many years and has had poetry and short stories published, most notably with HarperCollins. He first discovered his desire to write as a skinny weed-smoking seventeen-year-old badman who thought he could spit bars over drum and bass. Fortunately, that venture never left his best mate's bedroom and only a few people had to endure his musical embarrassment. He hasn't so much as looked at a microphone since. What the experience taught him was that he liked to write. So that's what he did.
After sending poetry to countless publications and receiving MANY rejection letters, he uttered the words, "That's it, I give up." The very next day, his first acceptance letter arrived in the post. He saw it as a sign that he would find his way in the world as a writer.
Over a decade and a half later, he now has a young family to inspire him and has decided to follow his joy with every ounce of his being. With the support of his amazing partner, Amy, he's managed to find the time to take the first step of what promises to be an incredible journey. Love, hope, and the need to eat get him out of bed every morning to spend a precious few hours pursuing his purpose.
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