Truthstack
(Short Fiction) Nina dragged herself away from the exposed sidewalk and rolled down a grassy slope as bombs two, three, and four took down the Old Cathedral and debris whizzed over her head.
First came the jets, then the bombs. Nina watched at a distance by the Sunken Garden as a pair of jets flew in perfect formation over the Old Cathedral. They laid four egg-shaped packages in the sky. Three bombs deployed parachutes and fell gently toward earth like stork’s bassinets, masquerading as gifts in their slow descent.
Nina watched as the fourth twisted wildly in its faulty shoot, plummeted into the roof of the Old Cathedral, and erupted in a fiery plume. There was no time to move. Nina felt the vibration everywhere. Under her feet, in her knees, her teeth. Her eardrums exploded, and all she could hear was a ringing noise as she fell to the ground, narrowly missed by large shrapnel.
She screamed, but couldn’t hear her own voice. She heard her intuition issue a sharp warning to stay down. Nina dragged herself away from the exposed sidewalk and rolled down a grassy slope as bombs two, three, and four took down the Old Cathedral and debris whizzed over her head. The shrapnel left small craters in the high walls of the Sunken Garden.
Nina scrolled through her Myface notifications as she waited for the emergency room doctor. There was nothing about the attack in her feed. Nothing yet in the news.
“It will take a few weeks for your hearing to fully recover, but you’re going to be fine.” The doctor’s voice was distorted, sort of like when she had damaged her headphones by accidentally wearing them in the shower at the gym. He didn’t look at her. He looked at the computer as he completed her discharge paperwork.
“I’m going to forward a referral for a therapist to your primary care doctor.”
“Why a therapist?”
“You’ve been through a lot. Not everyone we picked up today was so lucky. It will be helpful to talk to someone, trust me,” he winked and walked out of the room.
A nurse came in shortly after with a clipboard. Nina signed the paperwork and stood up to walk out, then hesitated. “Is it safe to go out? Do you know who committed the attack? Why isn’t any of this in the news?”
“I wouldn’t know that, sorry,” the nurse took her paperwork. “I have other patients waiting for this room,” she held the partition open as she gestured toward the exit.
Nina checked her phone again while she was driven home by a rideshare. There was no emergency alert. No news. Her Myface feed was full of photodumps of weekend hikes, selfies, and memes. She uploaded a picture she had taken in the emergency room and posted it with a caption.
Does anyone know what just happened in Quetzal City? Let me know that you are safe in the comments.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Nina asked the driver.
“Sorry?” His accent was heavy, and Nina wasn’t sure whether he understood the question, so she rephrased it.
“Do you know anything about the attack? There isn’t anything in the news yet.”
“No English, sorry.” he said, “I don’t understand.”
“Go left here, please.”
“I follow the navigation.”
“I need to see the Old Cathedral. Please drive past it.”
“It costs more.” The driver turned left, but the area was blocked off by tall chainlink reinforced with plywood.
Construction Zone, it read.
That night, Nina turned on the TV’s live news station. They were covering the president’s reelection campaign. She opened Myface on her laptop and there was a notification.
Your recent post is in violation of the community guidelines and has been removed.
“Seriously?” Nina said aloud. She crafted another post. This time she took a selfie.
I was almost killed today by shrapnel from a bomb attack and there’s nothing about it in the news. Does anyone know what’s going on?
Immediately, a notification.
Your recent post is in violation of the community guidelines and has been removed.
Then another.
crazycato has tagged you in a post.
“Why No One’s Talking About The Bomb Attack” now available on my Truthstack account. Link in bio. @ninainquetzal
“So I’m not crazy,” she unscrewed the cap of her antipsychotic medication, “I mean, not about this.”
“You’ve been through a lot in the last few months, haven’t you? A move, a new job, a trip to the emergency room. That’s a lot,” the therapist sat back in her chair, scribbling frequently on a legal pad.
“Yeah. I feel relieved though, to have been able to find more information on the bomb attack.”
“Is it reliable information?”
“Well, it’s hard to verify because it’s not anywhere else in the media.
“You mentioned Myface appears to be targeting your posts for censorship, is that right?”
“Yeah. Myface is suppressing information about the attack. I’m so glad I deleted my account. No one there cares about what’s really going on.”
“What’s really going on?”
Nina looked out the window and watched a pair of green and red birds ascend into the morning fog. “Sorry, I’m a little hesitant to talk about it. Every time I bring up the bomb attack with anyone in real life, they don’t know what I’m talking about. It can be pretty triggering for me.”
“Are any of your friends from New York on this new social media site?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Have you met anyone in real life who has a Truthstack account?”
“No. Honestly, I’ve been pretty isolated since I moved here.”
The therapist wrote something down on the legal pad. “Okay, so I think we are going to try increasing the dose on your antipsychotic medication.”
“Why?”
“I was finally able to get your records transferred from your clinic in New York. Your history indicates a higher dose was effective for you.”
“Not since I was younger. My symptoms haven’t been that bad in a really long time.”
“I think it would be best if you went back to the higher dose. It might help with what you’re going through.”
“Are you talking about the bomb attack? Because I didn’t imagine that. There are tons of other people talking about it on Truthstack.”
“You know, it’s always a good idea to question what you read online.”
Nina called her friend Mel after therapy. “Are they talking about the bomb attack at all on the news in the U.S. yet? There’s still nothing here.”
“Nina, I’ve been meaning to ask—” there was an uneasy pause. “Sorry this is isn’t an easy conversation.”
“Mel, this isn’t—I’m not having psychosis if that’s what you think.”
“I have to ask. Are you off your meds again?”
“What? No, I’m seeing a therapist. She’s increasing my dose. I’m telling you—”
“It’s just, I noticed that you were acting weird on Myface. Then you suddenly deleted your account. That really worried me! You know, I’ve been following other digital nomads online, and this one girl really opened up. She said she’s super depressed and extremely isolated. It’s probably hard for you living like that. If you are struggling you’re supposed to talk to me before things get bad, Nina.”
“I didn’t say I was depressed. I said I was almost hit by shrapnel.”
A pause.
“Why don’t you just come back to New York?”
“I’m not the only one who saw the attack, Mel. There are tons of people on Truthstack who—”
Mel sighed. “Truthstack isn’t real, Nina.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s no such thing as ‘Truthstack.’ I’ve been searching for it everywhere. I talked to everyone I know. No one has ever heard of it. So be honest with me, are you off your meds or not?”
There was a low hum as a pair of jets approached. “They’re here,” said Nina.
“Who’s there? Nina, it’s going to be okay. If you have your meds, take them right now. What’s your therapist’s number?”
The hum grew louder.
“I love you, Mel.”
The jets roared overhead. Mel heard the noise through the phone speaker, the audio clipped and distorted, and then the line went silent.
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Truth or fiction . The narrator or media knows. The facts are stacked up. Leaves the reader with questions. Who sees what? Documents are scarce. Cameras no use. Meds are no answer.
Uh oh…Substack isn’t real either