Master of lies--- a short story about an influencer who is not as they seem
“Thank you all for watching this video! For all of you guys that haven’t subscribed to the channel, now is your chance because I’m going to be doing a giveaway for anyone who subscribes within the next 10 days.” Gleefully says Jenna for her YouTube audience.
Silence falls upon the room. Jenna stares blankly at her computer waiting for her video to upload. After the upload is complete, Jenna goes to the adjacent room where her setup for Onlyfans awaits to be used and abused to satiate the depraved desires of lonely, purposeless men and women who share the honor of being Jenna’s subscribers. She turns the camera on and sits on the bed in a suggestive pose. The red light of the camera indicating whatever degradation she inflicts upon herself is being recorded for her audience.
She speaks in a sultry voice,
“Oh my god, this toy… I can’t take it, it’s so big! I bet not as large as yours.”
She was never the most creative verbally, but surely has an uncanny ability to capture the attention of whomever on whatever platform she deems.
After the deed is done, she goes to the shower to wash the filth off her skinsuit. A mixture of excreta and other bodily fluids stuck to the suit. Even when washing herself, Jenna remains cold and sterile. Not even a moment of thought appears in her mind. The attention she garners from her presence digitally is what feeds her. That is the only thing she has ever cared about.
While drying herself, she opens twitter on her phone. Scrolls endlessly through her feed looking for any opinion that is not mainstream. She is methodical in her approach; like a squad of military men clearing out a building. Whatever “out there” opinion she finds on the wasteland of twitter she starts an argument with. Bringing about facts and figures from thin air to prove her point. The purpose to get as many likes and retweets as possible, so that everyone knows she has all the right opinions one is supposed to have in this Orwellian time we find ourselves in. Hours go by and many battles have been won. Women’s issues, race issues, colonialism, police shootings, terrorism, diversity, and the list goes on and on. She is a better combatant than Alexander himself.
It is midday now. Her consistency on the internet is admirable. She has the work ethic of something otherworldly. Never seen sleeping, never seen eating, never seen leaving her house. Jenna’s only movement is from one online platform to another. She may just be the greatest showman on the internet. Never a moment of rest, yet always doing her best.
Jenna goes back to her computer and starts a twitch livestream. She is playing Modern warfare 2. The newest and hottest Call of Duty. She boots up warzone and plays for hours upon hours. Thanking her twitch subs whenever a donation of money is made. She gets win after win, but her face perpetually has a crooked smile plastered on it. The lady may not have any emotion or humanity left inside her. If they ever existed, they have long drowned in the vast ocean of the internet.
She stays on twitch till midnight. Playing Call of duty the whole time. She says goodbye to her band of watchers and ends the stream. She stays on her gaming chair for a few minutes.
Motionless.
Her face reverted to the blankness of before. She takes a few selfies to post on Instagram (making sure to capture an adequate amount of cleavage) and writes a motivational caption underneath the photos. She gets up from the chair and walks towards a room on the other side of her house. The room is small, windowless, grimy with only a single yellow colored lightbulb hanging in the middle. The room is empty; the lightbulb and its yellow glow are Jenna’s only company.
She locks the door and stands in the middle for a few moments. Jenna starts to dig her fingers on the top of her scalp till she is able to break the skin and start ripping it apart. With some effort she manages to pull the skin off. The beauty of the outward Jenna is no more. A grotesque pale, fat, slimy, blobfish-like face with stringy wet hair emerges. Her mouth adorned with sharp fangs, two slits for a nose, small black eyes on her face. The stench of her breath is almost visible; it could haunt a man in his dreams. She continues to take off her skinsuit as if she was taking off a diver’s suit. She is now fully revealed. Completely nude. Her body thin and skeletal. No humanizing features. Devoid of hair, nipples, genitalia, musculature, or anything you could call human. Her flesh stuck to her skeleton like cling wrap. Her bones clearly visible. Her fingers and toes have long dirty nails. The color, a mixture of sludge and dark dried blood. Through a Faustian bargain, Jenna’s soul has become a place of corruption. Whatever good that was once in the girl has now become whatever this monstrosity is.