Michael Robertson - New Reality - Truth

Tom’s usually pallid face was purple. Clenching his jaw, he clung onto his hip and screamed through his gritted teeth.

Losing his pulse, Jake could feel his lungs tightening. “Tom, what’s going on, man? Are you okay? Talk to me.”

Taking heavy breaths, Tom forced his words out, grunting between each one. “Does. It. Look. Like…” When he paused, his facial muscles writhed like a bag of snakes. “…I’m okay?”

Looking Tom up and down as if searching his form would reveal how to fix his friend, Jake’s eyes stopped on Tom’s hip and his hand holding it. It was yet another question that he didn’t want an answer to. “It’s broken, isn’t it?”

A strange calm came over Tom as he grunted and lowered his eyes. “I think so, yes.”

Leaning over, Jake wiped Tom’s thick hair away from his sweating brow and offered a single, ineffective word. “Sorry.”

She wasn’t sorry. She was about as far from sorry as she could be. Watching Tom as he lay on the floor, fighting against his pain, she leaned back, relaxing into her posture. “At last!”

To stand by and watch his friend writhing on the floor as if he were possessed was hard enough for Jake, knowing that he was the reason for his pain was torture. Holding Tom’s large and bony hand, he watched him contort in ways he thought were beyond the physical capabilities of the exhausted man.

Other than an apology, Jake had nothing to offer. Sat next to his friend, occasionally stroking his face and offering words of comfort, he watched Tom slip into states of delirium that he wasn’t sure he’d ever pull out of.

All the while, the raised line of rubble sat about ten meters away, moving steadily closer with each passing hour.

Hours passed, and all Tom did was groan and writhe, his eyes rolling in his head. When they suddenly focused, Jake jumped. The stark lucidity staring up at him made his spine tingle. Frozen as he stared at him for a second, Jake snapped out of it, leaned over, and wiped Tom’s sweating brow.

Speaking in a pitch that was somewhere between a growl and a cough, Tom said, “It hurts so much.”

The heavy throb that ran through Jake’s hand seemed like no more than a surface scratch in comparison to Tom’s injury. Stroking Tom’s white hair away from his face, Jake leaned over his friend. “It’ll be okay, mate.” He could hear the lack of belief in his assertion. Doing the only other thing he could, he removed his glasses and slid them over Tom’s grey eyes.

Squinting as his face was peppered with fine grit, Jake watched Tom turn to face him. Touching the glasses, Tom coughed and forced his words out. “I can’t take these from you.”

“It’s the least I can do. It’s my fault you’re in this state. We’ll get you sorted out, don’t worry.”

A pang ran through Jake’s heart as he watched Tom’s head fall to the side. How long would it be before he lost consciousness for good?

The sound of shifting rubble caught Jake’s attention. Looking up, he saw that the distance between him and whatever was following them had halved. It was a good job Tom was passed out; the last thing he needed was an awareness of that thing.

Getting to his feet, Jake picked up a brick. Letting its weight settle in his left hand, he yelled and lobbed it in the direction of the rubble.

The thing shifted back.

Picking up another brick, he did exactly the same, driving it back farther. “Now fuck off! I don’t know what you want from us, but you ain’t fucking getting it.”

Finding a glass bottle, he then shouted to the point where his throat felt like it was tearing. “Fuck off!”

The bottle was the best shot of all, scoring a direct hit on the rubble.

The creature’s hiss rose above the sound of shattering glass.

Standing in the wind, his face stinging, Jake watched their stalker speed away from them. It travelled so quickly it was out of his view within seconds.

Remaining on his feet, he studied the horizon for signs of its return.

The sky had turned from gunmetal grey to black, making the hazy glow of the Rixon Tower more prominent for the reduction in light. Having kept a keen watch for the entire time, Jake was yet to see the thing return. Maybe it was more scared of them than they were of it. Maybe it had gone to get backup.

After hours of holding Tom’s hand as he writhed in agony, Jake suddenly felt his friend’s grip go limp. Watching the tall man roll over onto his side, Jake gasped when he stopped still. “Oh, fuck.”

Just before Jake could check his pulse, Tom twitched. Although he could see his scarf moving, it was impossible to hear what Tom was saying over the loud wind. Leaning so close to his mouth he could smell his friend’s stagnant breath, Jake listened to his gentle whisper. “Can you get that for me please, Jake?”

Looking around, all Jake saw was rubbish. Not knowing how to respond, he remained silent.

Raising a shaky hand, Tom pointed at a pile of rubble.

Looking again, Jake saw bricks, old food wrappers, plastic bottles, and carrier bags. Turning back to his friend, he shrugged. “What is it, Tom? What do you want?” He leaned close again to hear his reply.

“The ears.”

Nestled in a crack in the ground between several large lumps of reinforced concrete was a black sphere made from toughened foam with two mouse ears. It was no bigger than a ping-pong ball and was the symbol of a corporate giant that, despite its prominence in the old world, was just a memory in the new one. The company that it represented was once so powerful they tried to buy Rixon. They failed, which Jake was grateful for. Seeing the tower every day was sickening, but having two huge fucking ears on the horizon would have made him suicidal. When the attempted buyout failed, they did everything they could to compete with Rixon, but it was too late by then. Their technology was several years behind the German giant, so by the time the mouse had caught up, there were no consumers left. Everyone was hooked on New Reality.

Jake’s muscles burned when he stood up. Stepping over the tall man, the wind threatening to knock his weak frame over, he made his way to the ears.

Once he’d picked them up, Jake held them in a pinch in his left hand and examined them. It was strange that people had ever parted with their hard-earned money for such a useless item. The cost of it would have fed someone for a day in an impoverished nation. Jake’s concave stomach rumbled at the thought of food.

Flipping the ears over, Jake looked at the hole in the bottom. It looked like it was designed to push a pen into. Shrugging, he walked back over to Tom and gave them to him.

The tall man’s scarf lifted as if he were smiling beneath it. It was so much harder to read his expression now both his eyes and mouth were covered.

Several heavy coughs flipped Tom’s body. Groaning, he looked back at his trinket. “We used to have one of these …” he stopped to breathe, “…on the aerial of our car.” Grief cracked his words. “Rory bought it.”

“Of course,” Jake said. “That’s why I recognize them.” A sudden pain ran from his infected hand all the way up his arm. Dragging air through clenched teeth, Jake bent forwards, the burn balling in his shoulder. How long would it be before it ran directly to his heart?

Oblivious to Jake’s suffering, Tom dusted the ears off and continued smiling. A tear ran from beneath his glasses.

Leaning over again, Jake used his left hand to rub Tom’s shoulder and stared down at his friend.

After several breaths, Tom cleared his throat. “Rory …” Breaking down, he pulled the mouse ears into his chest.