Suppression

2 - Reality Uncut

George reeled again as another wave of nausea hit him, stronger than before. He grabbed wildly at the iron railings beside him, clamping his fingers around the chipped paint of one of the rods. For a moment, it was all he could do to stay on his feet, but then the dizziness and sickness passed, rapidly fading to virtually nothing. It never went away completely.

Medical tests, and he had endured many, had proved inconclusive. He had just collected this month's pills from the chemists but they did little to alleviate the symptoms. His GP was at a loss. George had good days and bad days, and today was a particularly bad one. Taking advantage of the probably brief lull in his symptoms, he set off along the main street again.

All he wanted to do was catch his bus and get home. He pushed on along the street, glad that there was hardly anyone about. It was hard to walk normally, but he made it another hundred or so metres before another intolerable wave of dizziness struck, accompanied by a piercing pain deep in his skull. He grabbed the sides of his head and staggered towards a free-standing waste bin. It was the closest thing he could hold onto to support himself.

He had the sensation of losing consciousness as he reached for it. A small part of his brain was screaming out not to touch what was bound to be a filthy item, but the need to support himself override all other concerns. He could feel everything fading rapidly.

The world tumbled and seemed to distort slightly. Grabbing the steel hoop that formed the open top of the bin he threw his weight against it and tried not to fall over. The pain burning through his mind removed all ability to think coherently. Nausea welled up again.

Still clamped to the top of the bin, he stooped forward in a last ditch attempt to avoid rolling away. The world swayed and spun again. The pain sharpened and he could no longer feel the nausea. There was only pain, bright, white pain. The world around him was curling and shrinking, but pain overpowered any coherent thought.

He had no idea how much time had passed when consciousness returned. It took a second to realise that he was still vomiting with force into the bin. The pain had reduced to a dull throb by the time he finished. He held the bin a while longer but his sense of balance had returned. He spat out the residue then, taking a crumpled handkerchief from his coat pocket, he wiped his mouth and headed back towards the bus stop. His stomach muscles ached like he had been punched.

That was when he saw it. Hovering silently high in the sky, apparently above the town centre. It was hard to get any sense of scale but it looked much larger than any aircraft he had ever seen, or even heard of. It was circular and flat in shape, rather like a flying saucer from a 50s scifi movie.

"Are you all right?" said a female voice from behind him.

It took him a couple of seconds to tear his eyes away from the large, silver object.

"Do you need any help?"

A short, dark-hair woman was looking at him with obvious concern on her face.

"No, no. I'm all right," he spluttered, "Can you see that?"

"See what?"

He turned back to the hovering disk and pointed straight at it. She looked puzzled, searching the sky for anything at all for a few seconds.

"There's nothing there," she reported, then adjusted the strap of her handbag further up her shoulder and set off again, probably thinking he had mental health issues.

"Great. Now I'm hallucinating too," he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

If the hovering disk was a hallucination, it was remarkably consistent. He stared at it for a while long then absent-mindedly decided to head towards it to get a better look. The close by bus shelter was forgotten.