Discordant Realities

By Manfred MacCallum

In this collection, explore uncharted territories where reality blurs and identities shift like elusive shadows. Each short story within "Discordant Realities" unveils a unique narrative that pushes the boundaries of perception, tales that delve into the realms of science fiction and fantasy, inviting readers to question the nature of reality and ponder the enigma of identity in a universe where boundaries are ever-shifting.

This collection includes a chilling story set in the realm of virtual reality within a space-station, taking a macabre turn that challenges perceptions. Traverse through parallel worlds where one's own self becomes the greatest adversary, and experience a narrative set in a post-apocalyptic Earth, where time-bubbles that bestow control to those who hold knowledge of the future.

Brace yourself for a journey through the mysterious and the surreal, where the line between what is real and what is imagined dissolves into the unknown.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Manfred MacCallum
• Release date: Jan 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224676866

Book preview

Untethered

Anasal drone pierced Cal’s dreams and she opened her eyes to the unlatched jaw of the young man asleep next to her.

You’ve got to be kidding, she thought, recognizing the face. She raised herself from the bed with exaggerated slowness so as not to wake the slumbering form. A suffuse orange glow of sunlight filtered through the coarse weave of the curtains and early morning city sounds drifted in. Cal found a pile of clothes upon the floor from the previous night and sorted in from out, all the while staying quiet and casting occasional glances towards the bed and the shambles of sheets only partially covering the man.

She found the tag and rubbed her palm against its surface, blurring out the name that had been there, then searching through her clothing with a series of patting motions for a piece of chalk. Her clothes, a sheer black gown, had no pockets and of course no chalk. She stood and surveyed the room. There. She crossed the floor and dug in a jacket hanging by the door where she finally found a tiny stub of chalk. Pinching it between thumb and forefinger, she wrote her name upon the tag before affixing the pin to her chest.

She gave a quick obligatory bow to the small wooden statuette of Haggmass crouching obscenely in a nook on the far side of the room. Cal blinked; she could have sworn the sunken eyes had twitched in her direction. A wash of gooseflesh up the nape of her neck felt like the prickling of tiny crab feet. Cal told herself it had been a trick of the slanting morning light, but made the sign of the woven-eye just to be sure, and her hand was on the smoothed metal of the rickety door-handle when the man rolled over and a shaggy head rose up, blinking like a tortoise from the depths.

Morning, Cal said, not sure why she was whispering now that he was awake. She cleared her throat. Sorry, can’t stay.

The man squinted, having to raise a hand to his eyes against the bright morning sun now streaming through the partially open door, framing him in a neat rectangle of light.

Cal? he said, reading her name badge.

Cal paused a moment, one foot outside the door, and gave a hesitant nod.

The man swung his legs from the bed and rested his head in his hands a moment as if recovering from a dizzy spell.

By Haggmass, I saw how much you were drinking last night, but this feels way worse than it should.

Wait a minute, you were....? Cal tapped a forefinger to the center of her chest.

The man on the bed nodded with a rueful grin and waggled his finger at her.

That was me.

Well, this got awkward, she thought with an inward cringe.

This doesn’t happen every day, said the man, returning her broad smile with dumb innocence.

You know what they say, the probability is higher in proximity.

In the ensuing silence Cal sensed the man taking stock of himself, making her uneasy. Cal glanced towards the door. It’s getting late, and I really have to be going...

The increased spill of light from the widening door picked up motes of dust hanging in the air, framing the bed and reached halfway up the adobe wall.

Come see me again soon, said the man.

You got it, said Cal, turning her face away to conceal her expression, eyes rolled to the ceiling. She slipped her narrow body outside and walked with quick firm steps upon the flagstone walkway. She ran a fan of fingers through her hair, for a moment confused by its length and realizing it must be hopelessly tangled. Shaking her head to herself, she dropped her hand and hurried on.

At least I know where I am, she thought, angling out into the street where already several heavily laden merchant carts were leaving trails in the road softened by morning dew. Cal paused at the smithy. In the shadows and flickering yellow glow of the nascent forge within, a small boy worked at a massive bellows. Cal smiled to herself and called out a greeting.

The smithy looked up, forced to catch his breath as his thin chest worked for air. He had stripped down to his undershirt and was sweating, thin arms trembling with fatigue.

Looks like you could use a hand with that, said Cal.

That you, Cal? said the smithy, screwing up his eyes.

Cal angled the name badge affixed to her chest so he could see, but the smithy wasn’t looking. Instead, he had arched his back, hands pressed to his hips, working out a stiffness in his spine. Cal looked at the forge and the flames beginning to lick at the wood.

It’s not like you to be so late, she said.

I woke up in Highfalls.

That’s outside the perimeter, you’re entitled to a day off you know.

The boy grunted. And have twice the work tomorrow? No thanks.

I’d help out, but it looks like you’ve got this well under control.

The smithy made a sour grimace and made a gesture with his scrawny arms. Yeah. Sure, thanks.

Cal couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was about to launch into the story of her morning but the smithy had already taken up the handle of his bellows and was working again.

Well, see you later, said Cal. She bowed her head to the statuette of Haggmass half-hidden in shadow at the back of the forge, and took her leave.

The smith only grunted, but just as she was stepping back out onto the street he called out.

Hey, Cal! One thing. As I passed the docks this morning, I heard some commotion down there. Some fella they dragged in.

Dragged in? What do you mean?

No idea. Some fool fisherman got himself shipwrecked. They were asking for you.

Is he dead?

No idea.

Damn. I guess I’d better check it out.

You do that.

The smithy pressed himself back to his task and Cal stepped back out into the warmth of the morning, momentarily closing her eyes and raising her face to the light like a lizard basking upon a rock. At the cry and clatter of hooves her eyes snapped open to the maw of a donkey’s mouth as it skittered to a stop, the man atop the cart raised from his seat and waving his arms in the air.

You want to get yourself killed? the merchant squawked.

Cal took a step backwards, flustered for a moment, and the merchant flickered the reins and the cart jerked once again into motion. The merchant narrowed his eyes and shook his head disapprovingly as he passed. Cal reflected he wouldn’t be so quick to anger if he’d caught sight of her badge and seen exactly who he was mouthing off. As it was, she contented herself to returning the merchant’s gaze with cold appraisal. The merchant must have sensed something, for he quickly broke away and hunched his back, flicking the reins again unnecessarily harshly against the back of his already cantering donkey.

Cal thought about continuing on her way to the office that lay in the inner circle of the city and leave whatever it was that waited at the docks until later. Nobody would blame her; officially she hadn’t been notified of anything... But after a spell of consideration she turned her steps towards the docks: she knew she wouldn’t get a moment’s rest if what the smithy had said was true, especially if a death was involved.

The fisherman wasn’t difficult to find. A crowd lingered about one of the outer jetties, milling in a clumped and sticky manner that suggested they were reluctant to leave, reserving hope to see a little more action before the morning was out.

The guy wasn’t dead yet, judged Cal as she strode out upon the planks, her narrow feet making neat little clipping noises. Sure enough, as the crowd saw her name badge they drew back like the tide.

A man lay in the center of the cluster. Someone had propped his head upon an old towel, but that was the extent of the care he had been given. He lay stretched out upon his back, arms cast out to either side, as still as a corpse, his clothing half-dried and crusty with salt.

Cal dropped to her haunches, obliged to keep her knees together with the tightness of her dress, and placed a hand to the man’s forehead. The touch seemed to have some effect, for the man’s eyes eyes flickered beneath closed lids and his mouth moved, muttering some words. Stubble of at least a few days’ growth peppered his jaw, and extreme sunburn had left the exposed parts of his skin red and blistered.

Is nobody else here? asked Cal, standing, then raising upon her toes (cursing her diminutive height) and scanning the crowd. The people looked at each other, nobody speaking, as if they batted an invisible ball of responsibility to one another. Finally, one of them accepted the role of spokesman.

You’re the first one here, officer.

Who found him?

The spokesman jerked a thumb towards a figure further