Another story written in the posting window for BCTS. Maybe, if I get myself in the habit here, some of my other projects will start to advance too.

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There were times, sitting in the rickety thrift store chair she used at her desk, that Karin wondered why she bothered.

It was just a web site, after all. Nobody there really cared about her. She wasn't an admin, or a moderator, or even one of the most popular or most prolific posters to the site. If she weren't there, if she'd never posted or shared or joined, then how big a difference would it ever make to anyone?

That was the question she asked herself now, as she stared at her latest post.

There wasn't much to it. A few quickly-assembled words, little in the way of forethought or planning. Like most of the things she had shared, it was at best amateurish in quality, bordering on drivel.

With a sigh of disgust she spun away from her screen, her chair squawking alarmingly at the sudden wrenching of its already too-often-wrenched swivel. She'd have to replace it soon, but money was tight enough without worrying about luxuries like non-squeaky chairs.

What did it matter anyway? There were better posters, more dedicated posters. People who would spend hours agonizing over the work they put out, the messages they shared. Why would someone read her stuff when they could read that?

She spun back to the screen again.

Why wouldn't people read her stuff?

Movie quotes were a popular thing on the sites she frequented, with some of the most popular ones being quips about life being nothing but pain and sorrow, but Karin didn't believe that for a second. Karin didn't want to believe that, no matter how often it felt like there were no truer words ever spoken.

A refresh of the page brought nothing but more damning silence.

Why didn't people like her?

Was there something wrong with her? Something that told everyone immediately that she was strange? Some sign of how broken she was? Was it that obvious?

Another refresh. Still nothing.

She had tried. Heavens knew she had tried to reach out to people. Like the old pop song, with a mask she could fool the world into thinking she fit in. She could laugh and joke and carry on, but at the end of the day she would return home, take off her mask, and there she would be again.

In the dark, watching a cursor blink with the hum of a computer in the background. No voices, not even from the dusty television in the corner. Listening to people laughing their cold, dead laughs on sitcoms or sharing their impersonal scripts on the news was almost more painful than simply sitting there.

Cold. Lethargic. Solitary.

No, not solitary. Alone.

Even around other people, she felt alone.

Click. Nothing.

Hanging her head in defeat, Karin fumbled for the button to turn off her monitor before stumbling to her futon. In dreams, she knew, she could find peace, at least for a little while. Curling up with her threadbare blankets in the inky black room, Karin closed her eyes.

....

Meanwhile, on the other side of a world, another girl read a new post from one of her favorite writers. This, this was someone who understood what she felt. Who she was.

Someone that made her feel not so alone after all.

Click.

She began to type.

-=END=-