BY JOHN-PAUL COTE

Copyright is held by the author.

BIG IDEAZ

THE CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE
16 February 2032

You Can’t Handle The Truth. I Can’t.

It is the most secret, most secure facility in the world — it is thousands of feet under New York City. And the research being done will make us all question our very place in the universe.

Sindy Chen
Staff Reporter, Big IdeaZ

Sindy Chen
Staff Reporter, Big IdeaZ

My life will never be the same. The burden of the secret I now know makes me question the meaning of existence itself.

Out of millions of journalists, I am the one Project Starlight asks to come for a visit.

Project Starlight. I have never heard of it, and likely you haven’t either. You will find no mention of it in any government documents or reports. You will find no mention of it on social media. You will never find it mentioned in the darkest reaches of the internet. No conspiracy theories. Nothing. This is truly incredible because Project Starlight is working on the most important finding of all time.

I am not exaggerating. I don’t think I am. I need that to be true. We may depend on the devotion of these scientists to maintain reality as we know it.

The elevator ride takes thirty minutes to reach our destination. My escort is silent all the way down, refusing to acknowledge me, never mind answering questions.

The doors open to reveal a huge concrete area. It looks like a factory floor, with machinery and equipment buzzing around. Behind all the action is a set of three massive steel doors. They are easily thirty feet high. Behind them is the universe’s greatest secret, I’m told.

We approach the guard post controlling the doors. My escort and I hand over our security cards and are asked to place our faces in an oval mold. I am told not to move for the retina scan, and they sample my DNA from my breath to confirm who I am. Where they got this from, I don’t know. The guard nods. We are cleared.

A voice comes over a loudspeaker telling everyone to stand back as the doors rotate open. They are at least twenty feet thick, with cylinders that interlock them. There is no force in the world that could make those doors move unless they want to.

I’m met by an old friend. Dr. Brandon Hawkins. We met at Brown University. I studied journalism while he studied theoretical physics. He smiles, says how long it’s been, and gives me a big hug. I ask him why I’m here. It is obvious this is not about catching up.

“I’ve invited you here to blow your mind,” he says.

Brandon waves off the escort and guides me through the doors. I’m at a loss to describe what I see.

As Brandon tells me, the glass corridor we are walking through takes us through the middle of “The Machine,” which he says in a tone that is both serious and mocking. There are tubes, wires, lights, and other things I cannot identify. One tube catches my eye. It contains a pulsing light that rushes along it. Brandon tells me it generates the field that protects us from the reality of our situation.

The reality of our situation? What does that even mean?

“It will all be clear in a few minutes,” he says. Despite the complexity of what they do down here, the explanation, he tells me, is simple enough but it takes time to believe.

After an hour-long tour of the facility, Brandon and I reach the control room.

This is where it gets real.

Brandon introduces me to the research and technical team. They all look at me in awe, as if I am an extraterrestrial or perhaps a movie star. Out of the crowd, one woman approaches. Dr. Avery Moore.

“This is an incredible event, meeting you finally,” she says.

More and more, I feel this is not just a visit for me. Several members of the team appear emotional. One is crying. No one acknowledges it. I am not sure how to take it.

Brandon asks if I want a seat. They have something to tell me. I take the chair because it feels like I’m about to be told God exists…and here he is!

I wish that’s what they tell me.

“Over 30 years ago,” Brandon begins, “a group of researchers working at a lab in Los Alamos, New Mexico discovers a disturbing pattern. The world seems to blink out of existence, then come back. No one is aware of this non-existence. And it happens regularly. They discover it through microscopic variables in quantum measurements, variables at the smallest levels they can observe, and later even deeper.”

The scientists continue to stare at me. I shift in my chair. The attention is unnerving.

“What we have found since then is that the existence we believe in is a lie. Reality is a relative thing. It depends on one factor and one factor alone.”

Brandon stares into my eyes.

“That factor is you.”

I don’t know how to respond. It sounds ridiculous.

“This planet, this galaxy, this universe, everything in it, does not exist without you.”

I check if I’m dreaming. Then I check the exits. If they believe this, they are insane. I have interviewed dictators, cult leaders, flat earthers. This is worse than all of them.

“I know,” Brandon says. “It sounds insane. Beyond insane. But it is true. Before you, there is nothing. Before your first conscious moment, there is no existence. Now all of reality only exists when you are conscious. Every time you sleep—nap or full night—everything disappears. There is only you and a void until you wake, and then everything returns.”

Insanity. Pure insanity.

“It’s all true. Our past, our present, every star, every planet, every particle exists because you do. Our work is simple. We want to ensure reality continues to exist after you . . . pass on. Right now, when you die, everything disappears.”

I blink. People seem to jump for a moment, as if they believe him.

“Don’t worry,” he continues. “That pulsing light you saw, that’s a field we created to separate us from you. In here, we do not disappear when you lose consciousness. Our goal is to extend the field indefinitely or collapse it around you. Until then, you could go out tonight, choke on a peanut, and it’s all over.”

That’s when I notice the clocks. Two large digital displays. One counting up. One counting down.

“The one counting up is your age. The one counting down is the estimated time you have left. That’s our deadline.”

How does this happen? How can it be true? What about my mother? She must have existed before me.

“What we have uncovered,” Brandon says, “is that you simply came into being. You were never born. What you perceive as your past is a Permanent Transient Construct. Your subconscious creates everything: your parents, their lives, your family, the world, the universe, its history. As you grow, your subconscious continues to build it. But your conscious mind sustains it. When you sleep, it stops. Everything disappears.”

He pauses.

“You wake, and it returns.”

Why tell me now?

“Because your risk levels have increased. The countdown has shortened. You are taking more risks, seeking meaning, pushing boundaries. We had no choice but to tell you.”

It’s hours before they finish showing me the evidence. I refuse to believe it.

Until I do.

Everything exists because I do.

That is what they have shown me.

That is what I now understand.

That is what I have to believe.

All of it.

Because of me.

I am 30 years old.

That is too much weight for one person.

I don’t know how long I’ll stay here in Project Starlight.

I remain here.

Whether that is a choice is unclear.

To keep everything alive.

They say they are months away from a solution.

Until then, I’ll stay here.

Because if I leave, if something happens, everything ends.

That is what they tell me.

That is what I am writing down.

***

John-Paul lives in St. Catharines, Ontario with his wife and two children. He’s been writing for years and is a fan of Sci-fi and fantasy. He is a person of few words, so he enjoys writing short stories and novellas the most.