NSPEKTR
The light peaked in and kissed off the keyboard as I found my final stroke. 23 thousand lines later I was convinced it was finally finished. I felt a bit morbid and slightly dirty. The kind that didn’t seem to come off in the shower. But no matter how seemingly excited I was, I didn’t want to run it. I didn’t want to test it. If It didn’t work, the last 9 months would have been a waste. And if it did, the next 9 would be something of a different waste.
So as I sat there in front of the screen I wondered if I would have to move at all. But the phone buzzed. It didn’t surprise me. She knew I was going to go through with it, and she knew she was the last, if anyone, that could stop me. But even unbeknownst to me, I had already made my choice.
I opened up the application, and as if I was throwing myself into a fire I wished others would swim in, I began typing into the bar. “I’m feeling super happy @Joey Saffer”
The screen paused and returned a running program at the bottom. A few dots popped up, then a message shot back.
Truth probability: 6 %
Genuine rating: 0/10
Applicable timed files: 7,912
It paused once more then it came. One after the other. The portal was now opened and in it things I didn’t even know existed. Texts from my girlfriend to the guy she was cheating on me with, date stamped a few days ago. Photos pulled from cctv tape of me downing a bottle of vodka behind the market where I bought it. Pictures of my bank account and HMRS statements proving I had next to no cash and barely enough to eat most nights. Notes from my therapist that were supposed to be sealed. Notes proving I tried to kill myself twice. Also date stamped to a few days ago. A review of saddo music I listened to, constant trips to the cemetery, dodgy porn history, and even audio files of my loud and obtuse crying pulled from idle mics in my phone and laptop. Also date stamped, to last night.
Arguably, it was supposed to induce a spastic attack. It was so bloody accurate. But I had to test it once more. I quickly logged onto Facebook, and I quickly went to unblock her. Lina. My now ex-girlfriend. Incidentally the one who just rang. I scrolled down her feed and quickly went to one of her recent posts. “Feeling massively accomplished,” she posted with her holding up her secondary degree in Public Policy. It was favourited by 2 thousand people and was commented on a billion times over.
“OMG mucho Jelly, have a mad one.”
“Sexy and educated? Do those exist?”
“Proud of you sweetie.”
“Break the world girl”
“Hard work pays. And quite literally in this case. Get that Monayy”
And on it went. To social whordom. A place where at times I wished I was but strayed far away until my journey and my calling somehow brought me back to it, but this time from an eerily different angle. So once again I typed into it. “Feeling accomplished @Lina Coley”
Truth Probability: 12 Percent
Genuine Rating: 4/10
Applicable timed files: 4,124
The screen froze slightly, and then they came once again. Photos of her on his desk. The dean of the public policy college. I always thought they were a bit close. She was stripped naked with lines of coke positioned below her breasts. Photos of her rejection letters from a gazillion job placements date stamped to a few days ago. Records of her immense debt total that would cripple her for decades. Audios of her ringing her exes lauding the stupidity of higher education. Checked out books about how to fake success. And a text to a man I didn’t know until now telling him that she’s aborting it because it will ruin her chances of getting a good gig. And finally a video of her cutting herself. Date stamped 2 days ago.
I began to red a little. A few tears escaped the grasp of my eye lids. I was sad that it had taken this long for the ultimate truth, but weirdly, almost satanically, I was happy. They were tears of joy. Joy about just how much destruction it would bring. So I shifted over to a new pane and went to the private hosting site. I uploaded the code, and a few seconds later, with a ceremonious pause, I pressed enter to go live.