The Person Behind the Blank Face

My take on who the hater Anons are. This is what I do instead of writing a paper on Oscar Wilde’s satircal masterpieces.

The girl sat in the corner of her room, staring out of the window. It was a Sunday night, and tomorrow it was time to go back to school. The time had almost come to be surrounded by those fake attention seeking w****s, every last one of them. All of them the f*****g same. Obviously, not w***e in the literal sense, but w***e in the sense that they all are stupid, self centered b*****s. It really doesn’t matter what they’re going through or what they think, the second a cry for help escapes their mouth, its instantly turned around and molded into a “attention-seeking cry”. They’re all so pretty, but they all look ugly when they cry. And that’s when the girl shines. The only one that’s not crying, the only one that’s smiling. She stands out.

The girl brought herself out of her reverie, realizing that she didn’t stand out yet. Everyone was still beautiful inside and out. She wanted people to cry, to scream, to slowly suffocate within their own bodies so that she could come out victorious. And it was simple to bring about every other girl’s demise. A simple click here, a few nasty words there, and voila! Perfection. Every girl she ever envied, every girl who was ever better than her brought down to their knees. Oh, the internet. How she loved the internet. She stabbed everyone in the back, and no one ever had to know who did it. She could stand on top on every girl’s mutilated, scar-ridden, bony body. She could turn every girl’s thoughts against themselves and choke their self-expression. The anonymous button. What a f*****g mighty weapon to cower behind.