A STREAM

1.

Rain and night air whirled outside, and battered against the window. But it was warm inside. The apartment spoke of a relatively well-off lifestyle – at least, slightly above the population mean. A packet of chips was a supper boon. He finished the last crumbs. He was ready to shoot. The small camera on top of his laptop activated. His face manifested on the screen – a rather sleepy look. It didn’t matter. What mattered was his beautiful voice – grandiose in its swearing and bearing friendship like a garland for the faces behind their screens, or eyes locked into their smartphones with ear-buds, or lying on the bed stroking at his face on a tablet with a single finger.

“Okay… so, we were at the cavern. I think… but – shit. Folks, do you think this is a good time to dive it?”

Word-streams. Some in affirmation. Some in denial.

“Yea… you guys are really split on this. But I say fuck mercy – let’s rock!”

Actually he knew that he was, more or less, going to die, very horribly, inside that cavern – but this was the show, and it was all part of the fun. When the ghouls and vampire lords were beset upon him from the slimy 3D-modeled ceiling, he would howl, and he would swear rainbows. They loved it when he jiggled about in his seat, making horrified exaggerated faces.

He was a showman – in other words.

But, that would be too unkind a word to say, wouldn’t it? After all, he didn’t exactly decide it in a pre-mediated or conscious way. He just decided something along the lines of “yea, let’s plunge in – that’d give them some kind of fun”. It wasn’t fake at all. He really wanted to shake himself up. In other words, this was merely a magnification of his pre-existing personality. He was being himself.

The court jester in the imperial frock. The Christian in the lion’s ring. The populous clown.

“Come on… comeoncomeon – OH MERCY!”

He slapped his palms against his cheeks and gaped – like Munch’s Scream.

The chat burst with roars of capitalized lols.

The screen read – GAME OVER.

He did a self-deprecatory shrug.

“I guess I just really suck don’t I?”

The chat burst with re-assurance. He was totally going to get through this. He was the best. He could do it.

This spurred him on, even though he knew that they were only re-assuring him because they wanted to see more of his reactions. It was Schadenfreude.

His armored persona blazed into the cavern, and again fought off hell-lich and demon spider, and again was defeated, and again came back – and his own face contorted into various forms more ghastly than the undead. The chat shuttered off praises and laughs and guffaws in digital verse. This was poetry. This was madness!

And it was also a living. He had lived like this for a year.

Views came streaming in. The livestream was throbbing with fervor. His loyal fans. His mutant horde of freaks. They carried him on their shoulders and bore him up – thanks to ad revenue.

Thunder boomed. In an intuitive motion he grabbed the empty bag of chips from the table and threw it into the trash bin. He looked outside. He made a comment:

“Wow, its blowing up a storm here. You guys seeing this?”

Affirmatives. Those in the same region.

“But, shit – it feels good to be here with you guys. All warm and cozy. Stay cozy dudes.”

Emoticons. Love-hearts. Hugs and kisses.

“Yea – I love you all too.”

He raised his hands back.

“No homo.”

He made a nonsensical statement, while giving a wink.

“Even the ladies.”

He knew that, in a few hours after making that statement, he would see extremely weird erotic fan-art of himself as a female making out with another female. That was the way it flowed.

Suddenly, the chat was spammed with a single user ID. Lucygirl1101. The letters were red and blaring.

“I’LL KILL MSELF!!”

The torrent came down, and the other users fought back – confused, and angry. Some told him/her” to go do it and stop bothering the livestream. Others were concerned and white-knighted by sending suicide hotline numbers.

“I’LL KILL MSELF!!”

He decided to step in.

“Woah… who’s that over there – please, just stay safe man-girl-person…”

Once his words hit the stream, the User started to post a few more messages.

“I jst luv u. I luv u too much. I CAN’T TAKE IT. If u dun call me nw – I’ll kill. I’ll kill mself. My family. My dog. My LIL BRO…”

“You gotta be trolling…”

“U DAE CALL ME TROLL?!”

The chat began to hurl abuse at her, calling her a cold bitch without any respect for her own life, or others, or any sense of the world. They called her a first-world problems having little bitch that came here to screw up his livestream.

“Okay… woah, calm it. You just want a call right? Email it to me. No, don’t post it in chat. I won’t let you spam her guys…”

He took control of the situation. His heart was racing.

“Just… don’t do anything stupid. But I probably won’t be interested – but I’ll still take your call. Just don’t be stupid man… girl… whatever. Don’t do anything dumb.”

A notification blinked. He took up his phone, because he didn’t want the number to appear on the stream.

“Okay, you see here, I got it. I’ll call you okay?”

The email had a single number in it. He dialed it.

“Goddamn… okay guys, sorry for the downer… but you know I love you all, and even if you’re crazy and stuff… well, if you’re a fan I can’t harm you and stuff like that… sorry guys, but this is serious biz…”

As the ringing continued, he made those comments to placate the abusive crowd. They showered him with remarks about what an accepting person he was. Some grumbled.

The line got through.

“Hello? Is this Lucygirl?”

Silence.

“Hello? You’re not screwing with me are you?”

Silence.

“Oh jeez… okay, guys, looks like it’s a troll. Holy shit guys I’m sorry I fell for it.”

He brought the phone up to the speakers.

“I mean just look…”

An explosion, in grainy noise, came from the phone.

“HOLY SHIT… WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”

From the phone he heard slow breathing noises. Then, silence. Then, distant steps. Running. Then screaming.

“Lucy! Lucy!”

Scream. Run. Call a doctor. The wind outside, barred from entry by the window, now seemed to be blowing in, all around him. Faster and faster. It churned.

The black thunder.

“Oh… oh shit…”

He couldn’t even say anything. The chat instantly understood what happened. They were equal parts horrified, and maliciously happy.

“Oh god… not cool guys… not cool.”

Then, a voice came through the phone. A shaking, horrified voice.

“Who…. Who is this? Who are you?”

“Ma’am… I’m LazyTed… just a streamer Ma’am… a Youtuber… I’m so so sorry…”

This time he was crying.

“Oh god… you’re that fucking kid that Luce was obsessed about all this while. You fucking murdered my daughter…”

“No… I didn’t…”

“You piece of shit – she IDOLIZED you.”

He could merely blubber excuses into the phone.

“You… sucked her life.”

The woman was just screaming. She howled and muttered weeping vulgarities. Her daughter had decided that she would take her life, and she had stolen a gun from their drawer. She had written a note before blowing her brains out – and it said that she loved Ted and she wanted him all to himself, and this was the only way she could ensure that their bond was inseparable.

The magnification. He blubbered and moaned beyond his control. He was truly himself. A pathetic form.

As he blubbered and moaned, all of it was caught on the stream, and the fans were similarly in distress. They yelled and made empty internet death threats at the lady who was blaming their idol over some stupid girl, and they comforted him, and their hearts shook in violent retribution.

A male voice came from the receiver.

“I called the ambulance to come to etc…”

It was the father, he was in despair, but he relayed straight through the receiver, and to the stream, their postal code.

The fans were exhilarated.

Ted looked in horror at the chat. He knew why.

They were going to doxx the family, and they were going to make them pay.

He immediately cut off the phone.

“Don’t do this guys… please… don’t fuck them…”

But the will of the internet was not his to command.

2.

One year later, after LazyTed had been boosted up to one of the highest profile Youtubers of all time – thanks to the resulting controversy, and the virality of that performance – he leaned back in his seat.

The family had been royally doxxed – and they had been faxed with porn and gore pictures – and received death threats and harassment. He had made amends by booking a flight, going to the funeral, paying for it, apologizing wholeheartedly, issuing a statement on his website, and making a video about the problems with fan drama.

For that 1 month of effort, he was rewarded with access to the top.

His new equipment gleamed. He was now with collaborators, and he had made so many new friends, and had so many new experiences.

The stream ended.

He turned off the monitor, and stared into the black screen.

The screen reflected his sleepy and mediocre face, but he had a voice that could swear rainbows – and he was an emotional man.

It was raining again. Thunder boomed. But there was no chill or darkness in his heart. This was due to the improved heating that his apartment now had.

“Blow your brains out… why don’t you…”

He felt as though he was being buoyed on a wave, and Lucygirl was there too. He had seen her in the casket. She was an ugly and preposterous girl. They were being buoyed on the same waves. In his reverie, he looked at her chubby pimpled grin, of self-hatred and self-effacement, and he smiled inside his heart.

He loved them all. He loved them all