Troll

Three cokes and he was good to go: a lovely, partially balding man, who looked boyish in the way his fat insulated his facial features. Ah! But he forgot to eat the third cheeseburger. How could he possibly forget the sustenance of life? Hungrily, he scarfed down greasy bite after bite, spongy wet noises accompanying his feast.

Alas, it was time! Not bothering to cleanse the residue left from the burger on his fingers, he eagerly awakened his computer with a shake of the mouse. Never did his computer get fully turned down. A knock on the door disrupted his ritual.

“Did you empty the cat’s piss box?” his mother yelled, much to his annoyance.

“Of course,” he feigned a response, but knew she would not hear. His voice was much too nasally to be raised through the door, and he could simply not bother to get up and reply; he was busy, and it was too tedious for him to lift his entire self from the basement. Only necessities such as food and wash and wastes called for action. Now, greater things were before his very hands.

The screen had lit up by then, and he cracked his fingers- an action he did quite frequently in preparation. Firefox, selected. A site of his choosing, selected. Chat. Selected. He grinned, pushing up his thick-rimmed glasses which without, he would be blind, and proceeded to lurk in the corners of each room. Then, there it was. A victim.

He approached the girl, Ashlee, scoping for vital information: 16, looking for a boyfriend, ignorant. Excellent. His mental checklist was fulfilled, and he waited for a chance to strike. At last, she began to flirt. He seemingly flirted back, under the profile of a 17 year old emo male, who was bi and didn’t believe in love. It was all the rage. Naturally, she wanted pictures. He had thought ahead of this event, and swiftly selected one of the many pictures in which he had gotten after Googling “Sexy emo boys” the night prior. She was pleased.

It was hard to stifle his audible laughter as she sent him picture after picture of a body which was much too photo-shopped to be believable. Highlighter-blonde hair, orange skin that resembled greatly a carrot, and breasts which looked rock hard under a tight Victoria’s Secret shirt. How absolutely revolting.

Squinting, he found the errors which gave away the pictures’ falsity. It could not have been more perfectly timed: she told him she was close. He was too, and he said as much. Close to revealing her perverseness to all of her friends and family, for her email was given to him in the beginning, and upon a search, it linked directly to her Facebook page, where a fat, acne-infested girl of 14, not 16, smiled hideously at him in the profile picture.

1,259 friends. She would add one more. And add she did, after the dirty act had been completed, after she had told him they should do it again sometime, and, relieved of all physical exertion, had left for bed. Victoriously, he too exited out, knowing she would be in for a surprise upon awakening the next morning, as he put his computer back to sleep, and ate the crumbs remaining from his cheeseburger.