He keeps a rebuttal in the back of his mind at all times because this is what he’s become. He’s silent at work, mindlessly translating instructions for cheap furniture, and pours over last night’s threads again and again, lets their vitriol fester and build pressure. He can practically hear the clacking of his keyboard responding to each post, feels it on his fingertips, and it excites him, in a way.
Chat servers, forums, social media, he ticks them off in his head, plans his order of attack. Because that’s what it is, really, an attack, a troll, though he disapproves of the word. He’d argue it’s a great word, an awful word, whatever opposes the view. The meaning of the argument doesn’t matter, not really. It’s how it makes him feel, and arguing makes him feel important.
Arguing is better than silence, better than when he opens his socials and has no notifications, no direct messages of hate or rage. That’s when he’s alone.
As if on command, the phone buzzes in his pocket, then again, and after the fifth vibration he wonders which of his comments have garnered attention. He doesn’t check it, just smiles as his phone continues to hum against his leg, happy he’s not alone.
Author’s Note: This flash was written as a submission for consideration into a competition held earlier this year that I was, sadly, not accepted into. Regardless, I feel this little thing has an interesting angle on a flawed, modern character we can all relate to at some point.
