Tuesday

Trolling Is A Art (445 Words)


"URGENT PLEASE FORWERD THIS TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW!  BURGLERS ARE OPERATING IN ARE AREA AND MARKING HOUSES THEY PLAN ON ROBIN WITH A X OUTSIDE OFF YOURE GATE. IF YOU SEE ONE OF THESE ON YOUR PATH UR NEXT!"

He reads and rereads the message and shudders. Block capitals, bad spelling, text speak, poor grammar, it's perfect. He clicks send and it's done; now all he has to do is watch and wait as his work spreads across the internet.  

This isn't the first time he has done this type of thing; he is a master of spreading fear and confusion. It's him who advises people to wipe soda cans before drinking from them because of rat piss. It's him who warns them about lost children really being bait for gang rapists, about the kebab house closed down for using cat meat, about the make-believe missing dogs and the non-existent rewards.

He logs out of one account and into another to "like" the picture that would somehow send prayers to a dying a child of his invention. He logs into yet another account and comments on the same picture saying how it is fake and the child died years ago and every who shares this is sick and stupid. He repeats this pattern of chaos for a few hours, the same way he does every day. One minute he is commenting to cure Aids, the next he is a devout Christian condemning queers to hell. He has been playing this game for so long he doesn't really know who he is meant to be anymore, doesn't know what lies he has started and what truths he has supposedly debunked as hokum.

His eyes sting from staring at the screen for so long and his back hurts from being hunched over the keyboard so he decides to treat himself to a bit of fresh air and take a break from the stale Cheetos and fart stench that lingers around his bedroom. 

Opening the front door he has to wait a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust to natural light, he can't remember the last time he was outside but he enjoys the feeling of the sun on his skin. He takes a few deep breathes and smiles, its good to be alive he thinks. Maybe he'll go to the park and feed the ducks. He read somewhere you shouldn't feed the Alka Seltzer as it makes them explode … or did he make that up?

He shrugs the thought off and makes his way down the path. He opens the gate and stares dumbly down at the white chalk X scrawled on the pavement.

1 comment: