Michael Robertson: New Reality: Truth

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.

Crash - Book One

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Crash - Book Two

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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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New Reality: Truth

Michael Robertson

© 2013 Michael Robertson

New Reality: Truth is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, situations, and all dialogue are entirely a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not in any way representative of real people, places or things.

Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.