Final Reality


An excerpt


If it exists online, does it really exist?  Is it real?  A website exists, a comment some judge deemed offensive.  A picture the police took down.  A file sharing network.  Documents, images, things we can see and hear.  Is a painting less real when we upload it?  Can you digitalise art or does it cease to be…

If I exist online, am I real?  My character lives in a virtual world and I live through him.  I give him my words, so he can speak.  He chooses as I choose, his friends and enemies and which path to take through the dark forest.

My character is a man of clay and I’m opening his head, filling it with me.  He exists if I exist, or because I exist, or I exist because of him.  He’s starting to come to life like words on a page (which isn’t real).  A page I can’t turn because it’s on a tablet, I can’t feel the texture of dead tree in my fingers as the words go into my mind, as they come out through the keyboard, less personal than writing with a pen.

A pen flows, keys don’t, they say, and yet my hand gets tired holding a pen, a staff, a sword.  I can never tire from the pushing of a thousand buttons a minute, and one day I won’t have to.  Thoughts will blossom on the page, on the screen, in front of or around me.  Instantaneous transference of conception into realisation.  An idea coming to life faster than we can currently think.

My man of clay will walk from the page or the screen, out from the digital world, into the digital world.  Everything powered by wires or wireless ideas and dreams.  Stop a revolution as quick as thinking it, no thought, all thought at once.  Mathras will be more real than I ever was.  Everything he’s done, I’ve done, but as I fade…

He grows.



© Copyright David Marriott  all rights reserved­.