I sunk down in the gray sea of cushions called my chair. I’m tired. Exhausted. But that didn’t matter when I reached home; it felt as if those feelings had flushed away. After I very impatiently and messily scrambled out of my dirty uniform and pressed the power button of my precious laptop. That wasn’t exaggerating. It was extremely important to me. It was where I drew with my tablet which was also extremely precious, where I could find cheese-cut answers to problems that I didn’t know and where I could entertain myself in the dreariest of days. Most importantly, it’s where I’ve played many kinds of games-- RTS, MMO, RPG, etc., etc. All these abbreviations may make someone of a non-game oriented routine think “oh, that’s super nerdy” or “that’s stupid, go get a life,” It’s not like we worship it as a cult or something. And by “we”, I specifically meant Him and me. He was the reason I was so bugged by other’s thinking this. I wouldn’t mind if someone just straight up said that to me—but to Him? …Let’s just say I may or may not freak out a little.

I hastily reach for the keyboard illuminated only by the colorful computer monitor and the dim desktop lamp. Completely by memory, I type up my pass code, feeling every key’s rough texture and how it felt to slide my fingers against the keys. I could hardly contain my excitement, showed by how fast I had entered the pass code in. The computer wasn’t able to recognize the key strokes fast enough compared to how fast I entered them in. As soon as I pressed enter, I was greeted by a flurry of jingles- though they all sounded the same; they seemed to have a pleasing tune to them. I knew these jingles very well. They were the client’s sound showing that you had received a message and I knew that only one person would message me. My heart skipped a beat while a smile slowly crept on my face. It was Him, the one whose name preferably be unknown.

Sure, I didn’t know Him in real life or even see what he looked like, but that didn’t quite matter. What matters is that you cared about them or the fun times you had together. Plus, He may have had His own quirks, just like I had mine. I wasn’t able to talk very well, especially under pressure. I would always stutter and I would never be able to find the right words to say. I was always better at typing, you always had time before releasing the jumbles of letters and review them before having them cross to the other side of the river Styx called “the other person”. Coincidentally, He had invited me to a voice chat the second I had thought about my quirks. My throat felt parched and it got harder to breath. I didn’t want Him to hate me, knowing how horridly I spoke, but I wasn’t able to refuse. No, I didn’t feel anything for Him nor he hadn’t felt anything for me—we were like siblings. We were extremely close, so, I accepted.

I struggled to find the inlet and plug in headset, fumbling quite a bit in the process. Immediately after I was able to, I saw the invitation in the middle of my screen and I’m not going to lie, I’m scared to accept. But I click the answer button anyway, against what my sweating palms and raspy throat told me. I heard His voice. It sounded younger than I imagined, leaving me in a wonder. It also sounded choppy and full of static, which, for an unknown reason, made me feel a slight feeling of terror. I felt like it was a warning, foreboding that something was going to happen, something I’m not going to like. I snapped out of it when again, I hear His choppy and static-filled voice.

“H…? C…? Can... y… …r m.?” He tried to inquire, me only barely being able to understand.

“Yes… but you seem to be breaking up a lot,” I respond, but regretted my choice of words immediately after. Of course He’s okay; we’re in a voice chat! What was I thinking?!

“I… ….y… I… ..ess… th… is a… s….. wa… to in…druce… my…, no?” He joked. I could feel a little sense of embarrassment in the fragments of his words. I was surprised I could even comprehend what He was saying.
“No… it’s fine! It’s not your fault that it’s doing this static stuff!” I exclaim, trying to cheer Him up.

“…I’m gonna check out why this is happening, so… give me a few seconds,” He informed me, somehow sounding clear as day. I should’ve felt happy that it was getting clearer, but all it did was indulge me in more fear and worry. I listen to the low, muffled sounds of banging which I know was him taking off his headphones and setting them down. My stomach started feeling twisted and sick, I was becoming restless. The sense of fear I felt before started feeling stronger and I kept hoping He would come back sooner so that it could stop. He didn’t. The worst part was that I was on some other part of the world, away from Him. Even if something happened to him, I wouldn’t be able to help him or maybe save him.

All the warmth from my body was drained from me; it was as if my fear was a heat vacuum. I could only feel the sweat on my palms and chills—the chills on each of the ends of my fingers and the chill that went down my back every time I thought of the horror that something would happen to Him. Trying to take my mind off of these horrifying thoughts, I started looking at others things. Key word: trying. My mind kept focusing on Him and I couldn’t look away from the bright, pixilated screen which portrayed one of His pictures. It didn’t actually show him, but a simple teddy bear which was cute but didn’t help calm my mind. I just waited, only having the smell of crisp, fresh air to comfort me. The low, buzzing sound seemingly coming from His microphone was there as well, but it wasn’t to comfort me. It kept buzzing at the same volume, the same frequency, the same speed. It was like someone was trying to hypnotize me, control me. After minutes, maybe even hours of listening to the same static over and over again, I swear I could hear a pattern.

I woke up after the pattern seemed to break. The static kept getting louder and louder, the pattern got faster and unbalanced, almost random. After a short and ominous silence, I actually started hearing noises, not just static. It was like hearing a family member’s voice after them being away for so long, maybe even several years. However, the noises weren’t from His microphone like I had hoped. Frankly, I can’t tell where it came from. All I know is that what I heard sounded like grunts and smacks, like a fight was going on and was being entered in the microphone. Afterwards, it was just silence. The static, the punching and even the low whirs of my computer’s fan—they all stopped. Full of horror, I quickly slide my mouse over to the call window and directed my attention to the timer. It’s been an hour since He left.

I set my things down and relaxed on my trusty gray-cushioned chair. It’s been a couple of days since I’ve heard from Him. I hastily pressed the power button to turn it on and once again, pressed the rough textured keys of the keyboard to enter in my pass code. I hesitated to press enter, but did to try and relieve myself of the suspense. To my surprise, I was finally greeted by the jingles I knew so well after so long. Overjoyed, I impatiently waited for the client to show the messages and had a large smile plastered on my face. At least, until I found out it wasn’t from Him—just one of His friends. Disappointed, I read the message I received from this friend only to be greeted with a link to a news article. Curious, I clicked it and started reading the article.
“Boy put into a coma trying to defend self!” I swallowed, hoping the article wasn’t talking about what I thought it was.

“Suspicious man found at his house…” I started breathing heavily, continuing on to the next sentence.
“…who had been trying to interfere with internet frequencies” That’s when I realized. My eyes started feeling watery and I looked away, I didn’t want to read this anymore. Because I knew, I knew it was written about Him. Then, I thought, things would never be the same.