Commentary and Philosophy Flash Fiction posted September 21, 2010

This work has reached the exceptional level
The thoughts that killed the world

Existential Truth

by Fleedleflump

The moon was a bullet hole in the sky and reality deflated around me. I imagined our world zipping through the galaxy emitting its death fart. My face, caked in dirty tears, felt numb. They never lied to me - the Gods. I took them on and won and lost. Gentle deities? Vicious subjects. My lungs plastered themselves to my spine as the very air was sucked from the world, and with my last speck of vim I raised a middle finger to the universe. The Earth was lost.


"What's your malfunction, Banner? You're as much use as a tissue condom! Get your act together!"

With that, my boss stalked away across the glass and light expanse of our office.

"Sanctimonious wankstain," muttered Jeff.

I smiled. "Tissue condom, though - that's pretty good."

"Ignore him, Mike," pressed my friend. "This magazine'd be shit without your theories. It was your article on existential physics and concept personification that got us off the ground. He needs to remember that."

I nodded. "I can't shake this feeling. We're heading for a critical nadir; all my research points to it. I just don't know how to explain it."

Jeff frowned. "Usually that's your strength."

"Maybe I'm just so far up my own arse I'm headbutting my back teeth. That's the problem with Science Philosophy." I shut down my computer and sagged. "Time to go home and sleep."

Jeff clapped me on the shoulder. "Don't get beaten, man. It's not in you."

"I just wish I knew for sure," I said as I left.

"Knew what?"



"Where are you, Mike?" asked the ethereal voice.

I stumbled through the pure white dreamscape, fear constricting my heart. "I don't know. I'm lost!"

"You must find yourself."

Every night the same; a blindingly pure reality, me the dirty stain, destined to run forever and never move. "I can't. I'm lost!" My throat was raw and tight.

"Don't get beaten. You're more than a tissue condom."

I stopped still, cold through. "What?" There was only silence in response.


The voice came again, a sussurus on a whisper's breath. "Where are you, Mike?"

Suddenly I knew. I crossed my arms. "I am here."


Twelve faces loomed from blackness around me in an elevated ring. I kept my arms crossed.

"We are the twelve deities," they said without moving lips. "We are your Gods."

Just a dream, right? "I'd say you're hysterical personifications, mere anthropomorphic projections of psychological concepts."

"Call us what you will, our role is unchanged."

I looked each in the eye. "Your role? Roles?"

"Our role is to be lost. You jeopardise that with your theories."

Was I being held accountable in some sort of dream court? "That makes no sense. If you truly are deities, then people would only benefit from finding you."

All twelve shook heads simultaneously. "No. Faith breeds good, and absence feeds faith."

"But how can truth be wrong?"

They blinked in unison. "Reality doesn't run on truth. It runs on perception."

"I don't understand."

"We will give you understanding. Please trust us, as we have you."


I woke up with a head like a cowdung cannonball but a spirit as high as the clouds. "I understand!"

At work, I grabbed Jeff by the shoulders and planted a kiss on his protesting head. "I understand everything!"

"Banner!" shouted my boss across the room.

I held up a hand. "Not now!"

For two days straight, I camped at my computer and typed like a concert pianist. The article was my best work, final proof of my theories, explained so all would understand. The foundations, the very scaffolding of life, was put to paper. The issue was the magazine's biggest seller in years, drawing international press attention. Soon my words were being read across the globe. I was the success I'd always dreamed of.

After a month the tremors began. A vortex appeared in the sky and hurricanes tore the nations. Fire spewed from great rents in the ground. Day became night and insanity gripped the populace.

Two months later, I cradled Jeff's body in the ruins of our office. Our boss had rampaged through the building with a collection of guns, shooting everything that moved. Jeff took one in the neck and never had a chance. Outside, the world shook itself apart. I looked into my friend's glazed eyes and saw my reflection. "Wankstain. Wankstain! You did this!"

The ceiling disappeared in a howling tempest and my hair danced.

A sudden weight dragged at my arm. I looked down to see an anthropomorphic projection - a smoking gun - filling my hand.

"The critical nadir," I whispered. "My Gods; it's me!"

I shot a hole in the heavens, and so the Earth was lost.

Flash Fiction contest entry


Flash Fiction, just shy of 800 words.

I hope you enjoyed the read!

Mike :-)
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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