Digital Dissection
Posting Piece-By-Piece
Brooke clicked the side button on her phone, smiling at the pinhole above her screen. Eyebrows gently raised, chin lifted, cheeks pulled taught to curve her lips into the facsimile of a smile—she was doing everything right. Brooke clicked a few more times as she tilted her head before finally releasing all of the tension in her face.
These were better, she decided, scrolling through the additions to her camera roll. But not good enough. There was still a hint of shadow under her lower lids, an errant eyebrow hair, and worst, an off-putting intensity to her gaze. Sighing, she locked her phone and looked out the sliding glass door of her fifth-floor studio.
Green spheres sprouted out of stocky stems, the microscopic hairs on their surfaces glittering in the evening light. Her succulents were thriving. A blooming yellow daisy drew her eye. She hadn’t thought it was warm enough yet for flowers, but she supposed eagerness was only natural these days. Bloom fast, die young.
A buzz. Elizabeth had posted to her story. Brooke’s belly contracted and she forced a deep, cleansing breath down her throat. She opened the app. Sure enough, Elizabeth’s photos from their weekend on Lake Chase had finally been put on display.
There was Elizabeth sitting back in a wicker chair, sun beaming off her gold-rimmed glasses into the camera lens. Then Elizabeth and Drew leaning against one another at the end of the dock, silhouettes against choppy purple water and an orange-streaked sky. Brooke refreshed. There was one more—a link to a post. Elizabeth laughing with Brooke, although Brooke was just out of frame. Elizabeth’s brown hair shone with a brilliant red tint, and her cheeks bloomed under the subtle creases of her smiling eyes. Her tanned body looked toned and delicate as she gently tipped a straw towards her pink lips. The cutouts in her orange and lime-green swimsuit curved around her torso in a way that would look unnatural on Brooke but only added additional intrigue to Elizabeth’s thin frame.
Brooke took all of this in without consciously studying her friend. It was an ingrained defense mechanism to dissect every photo of herself and her loved ones. She needed to identify and erase any flaw that might later draw vultures.
How long had it been since Brooke last posted? A month? Brooke shuddered. Scrolling through her notifications, she saw posts from everyone else in her circle and many of her old contacts from the before times. Fear clawed at her heart as she realized how far down she was buried.
She jerked her head up, hoping to see a lingering glow on the horizon. But her golden hour had passed. Smog and city lights turned the sky from purple to grayish green.
Scrambling for her tripod, she opened her video feed. She scrolled, listening just long enough to judge whether there was a sound she could work with, some song and dance her awkward legs and stiff lips could emulate. Her thumb stopped when she heard the synth-pop hit “Mimeto” and saw it had a relatively simple dance. She tapped the plus symbol and started rearranging her studio lamps. First cut, she missed the spin, staring awkwardly into the pinhole camera as she realized her mistake. Second, she stumbled on the kick. Third, her hair flew into her mouth, choking her.
But the fourth went well enough. Brooke sat cross legged on her futon, adding the trending hashtags, adjusting the lighting one last time in post. She wanted to publish it and bury her phone in the cushions until its alarm jolted her from sleep the next morning. But she couldn’t help herself. Staring at the Brooke of just minutes ago, the one kicking her legs, flipping her hair, and waving her hands, she saw it again. That look of effort in the eyes. Painful effort.
Brooke clenched the sides of the phone and deleted the video. She put it back on her tripod and took three grounding breaths, the way her online wellness coach had instructed. She thought about what she wanted, what she needed. She manifested. And with that, she started recording again. By midnight, she had a cut she was happy with. Flopping onto the futon and resting her eyes, she waited for her phone to buzz.
The first one came quickly. Elizabeth had liked it, of course. And commented. Brooke assumed it was a side-eye emoji or prayer hands, but she’d actually typed something out. Brooke’s heart stopped as she read it.
“Wow. Really Brookie?”
Had she uploaded the wrong video? Brooke frantically opened the app. No, it was the Mimeto recording, the one she’d worked hours to capture. She started to text Elizabeth when her phone buzzed. And buzzed again. Her phone started shaking in her hand as comments rolled in.
“Is this a joke?”
“Eew.”
“Idk why people like this make videos.”
“@UglyFails content!!”
“This is so harmful.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Brooke tried to delete the video, but her screen was frozen. The comments kept flooding in. They were becoming more and more aggressive. She pressed the power button and tried to restart. But the buzzing wouldn’t stop.
Sprinting to her bed, she opened her laptop. It did not react to her touch or pressing its power button. She frantically smashed random keys, and suddenly, a green light flashed next to the pinhole at the top of the screen.
The screen itself finally lit up, and there was a woman staring back at her. She had Brooke’s face. Her hair was perfectly curled, and her eyebrows were manicured into perfect arches. Her cheeks were rosy and dewy, and her lips glowed with a peachy glimmer. But the woman also had Brooke’s eyes. They were so desperate. She was trying too hard.
The woman in the screen saw this too. With a gentle smile, she reached out towards Brooke. She seemed to be whispering, but Brooke couldn’t quite make out the words. Brooke leaned in closer. As she did so, she caught a bright metal gleam from the pinhole camera. Something was inside it.
Her face just inches from the screen, staring into the shining pinhole, she finally heard what the other woman was saying.
“Hold still.”
A long piece of metal shot out of the pinhole. The needle drove into Brooke’s left eye.
“Don’t be afraid,” the woman whispered.
Brooke tried to pull away, but she couldn’t move. Hot liquid streamed down her cheek. Her vision began to flicker and blur.
“You want this. You need this.”
Brooke cried out as she felt the needle stab into her other eye. Her stomach dropped, and she felt acid crawling up her throat. What remained of her vision flashed red. Then black. Pain bloomed from the holes in her eyes, enfolding her in its redness. The only color in the new dark.
“It’s okay,” the woman whispered. “You’ll see.”
Brooke screamed. She was lying on her futon now. Pressing her palms to her eyelids, she felt for blood, but they were dry. Slowly, she dropped her hands and opened her eyes. The red tint of sunrise streamed through her window. She had fallen asleep.
A buzz made Brooke jump. She pulled her phone out of the cushions. There was only one notification, from an hour prior. Elizabeth had commented on her video.
“God I love your eyes!”
Thank you for reading Every Nook Uncanny. If you liked what you read, please share and comment. The audio version of this story will be available this Friday. You can follow Mae on Twitter.