What Are Real What Are Real

Brendan Whitaker

Description

I was told I can't bribe the reader because then this wouldn't make money. This is sort of like David Lynch except it makes sense.

Randall Jacksmith who is on his way to the bank encounters a series of incomprehensible events that seem to fade away in obscurity as he makes his way on his daily routine. As time goes by he begins to question if it all is a collective illusion… or if it’s all separate, but real. This tale of a mundane journey turned phenomena of mind splitting proportions is merely a glimpse of what Brendan Whitaker has in store for the near and far future of fiction. A book of spoilers and what’s to come.

Sujets

• Psychological
• Science Fiction
• Howard Phillips Lovecraft
• Abstract
• Distortion
• Psychology
• Fiction
• H. P. Lovecraft

Informations

• Publié par: Archway Publishing
• Date de parution: 05 janvier 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781665735797
• Langue: English

Extrait

WHAT ARE REAL WHAT ARE REAL







BRENDAN WHITAKER









Copyright © 2023 Brendan Whitaker.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.



Archway Publishing
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.archwaypublishing.com
844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-3578-0 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3579-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022923807



Archway Publishing rev. date: 01/04/2023



Contents
Prologue

Chapter 1 It All Makes Sense
Chapter 2 Psychosmic
Chapter 3 Top Class Action
Chapter 4 Strange Perception
Chapter 5 A Premonition Chronicle
Chapter 6 Pitiful Night
Chapter 7 Ghost AF
Chapter 8 Nothing is Pain
Chapter 9 An Interlusion
Chapter 10 Fight of my Dreams
Chapter 11 What about What?
Chapter 12 Please Stand By
Chapter 13 No, I Am
Chapter 14 A Dying Tune
Chapter 15 How Can’t I Be?
Chapter 16 What are Amongst

About the Author



Prologue
“Reality is fiction. Every human on the planet sees the world in a way that is absurd to the other, there is no such thing as real and there never will be as long as the outskirts, the unknown, the all-knowing, and always doing, exist. So I ask myself whenever I look in the mirror: is Randall Jacksmith real?”



Chapter 1
It All Makes Sense

I am on my way to the bank; I have business to take care of.
First, I eat a bowl of cereal, or maybe it’s a bowl of ants. And the ants are eating me. Ant-eaters eat ants, and I’m not an anteater. It is four in the afternoon, so I shouldn’t be eating cereal. So if it’s 4 p.m., and I’m not an anteater, then where did the bowl go? I look down at my empty hands, then around the room. Hm…nothing. I look back down at my hands and they’re covered in ants. I wonder, Maybe I’m an anthill. What if I’m the ant? I look down again and see my arms covered in tiny people crawling around. I try to hastily wash them off, but milk comes out of the faucet. I try to turn it off, but it keeps running. I turn around and the floor’s covered in anthills, except the anthills are bowls. The sink overflows with milk and the bowls star filling with milk until they overflow. I just stand there and watch it happen. The room starts filling with milk and the ants drown in it. The ants’ screams sound like that of tiny people, and I try to shut it out, covering my face with my hands. God, I wish this was all over .
Suddenly, the screaming stops. I uncover my face and see the milk, the ants, and the bowl hills all gone. I see the cereal I had left on the counter. I let out a deep sigh; it was finally over. At this point I want anything but a bowl of cereal. I went to get the bowl and I trip. I tripped over nothing. It was bizarre, as if the room moved and made me fall on my own. All of a sudden, the room begins to roll and I couldn’t stop myself from rolling along with it. The bowl flew and hit me in the head, shattering on impact. I was still conscious—conscious enough to see the fridge fall and slide towards me. I had to use all the momentum I could muster to roll against the room and miss the sliding fridge just in time. I got up and sprinted for the door. I didn’t care how much pain my ankles and calves were fighting off the room’s revolution. It was a combination of fear, adrenaline, and me trying to convince myself this was all a dream. I held onto the doorknob and looked back. In the kitchen, knives flew around like bats, the fridge launched and dunked itself back to the floor, bowl shards made screeching sounds as they scraped against everything; it was a madhouse.
I had had enough of this. I opened the door and a wall of milk knocked me back. It took only a few seconds for the room to fill with milk and I became nearly submerged. I was able to blindly climb up on the fridge, barely able to understand what happened—and I mean barely. I wiped the dairy from my eyes from and I saw…I saw… oh God . A spoon picked me up, and what was holding it was…a giant ant. I could not move from fear. The spoon got near the ant and I slid into its dark maw. I only saw black. I could only feel something on my face; it was cold and wet. I tried moving my hands and I realized…my hands were over my face all this time.
I uncovered my face to see I was back in the kitchen with everything in place. I turned to see the bowl of cereal still on the table; it was soggy and the milk had turned brown. Maybe I imagined everything. The clock said 4:01 so I guessed it was all sudden. I skipped the cereal (I don’t have to explain why) and walked to the door to go to the bank. I opened the door and when I looked down, I saw…an ant. I never felt an immediate terror in my life from anything, so to find myself barricading the door, running into my room, and going into a corner with a lamp as a weapon was disappointing to me. Even though I would not be at all late for the bank, I thought I should just stay inside for the rest of the day. I took off my suit, placed the lamp back on the dresser, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Time passed without me paying attention until I finally got up to go to the bath/rest/powder/humiliation room. I looked in the mirror to see nothing wrong. I couldn’t tell if I was trying to convince myself things were fine or that nothing really happened. The lights began to flicker from off to on and I saw a silhouette where my reflection should have been. The light flickered again and the silhouette was beside me in the mirror with my reflection still gone. The light flickered a third time and my reflection came back, but it had shadows cast around its eyes and its skin was completely dun. The light flickered one last time, and I began to strangle myself with my own hands and the silhouette was back watching in the reflection in front of me. Its face began to come out of the mirror and stopped right by mine. Its face opened up into a giant mouth and I could move only my arms (not by choice). It let out a large groan then said a single word to me: “ant.” It grabbed my head and bashed it into the mirror.
That was when I blacked out. The thing that woke me up was my alarm: 7 a.m. It was perfect. That nightmare was over. I got up to see…nothing out of place; the mirror wasn’t cracked. I checked the house door—it wasn’t barricaded. The kitchen fridge was fine and there was no mess. Lastly, I looked at the table and saw a bowl—a bowl…full of dead ants drowned in milk. I knew I should’ve concluded this at the very beginning (so take pity on me) but…I didn’t think I was supposed to see any of this.



Chapter 2
Psychosmic

I tried again for the bank. I went out the door and outside. So far so good.
I reached the sidewalk far from my home, and I was walking alone—nonetheless, walking.