“Troll”

My whole life wasn’t supposed to change. It was only supposed to be temporary. I was only planning on trying it out for a while, seeing where it took me, changing my course once I had built enough of a stable income.

I can’t believe this is how I live now.

I wasn’t a bully growing up—in fact, I was picked on my fair share of times. But it didn’t harden me or turn me into an aggressor. I just kept to myself, went about my own business. I didn’t have a quest for vengeance or a need for power.

It was just a gig.

It started out with some innocuous enough posts, challenging people who thought differently from myself. That brought in a few cents per click. Once those started to fizzle out I had to ramp up my efforts. Then it became more targeted. It wasn’t just challenging people, it was mocking them. Breaking them down. That got a few dollars each time. Eventually, I started getting blocked which caused a dent in my revenue stream. I had to take it to the next level.

I had to doxx.

Now people genuinely feared me and I started getting paid not just for what I said, but I was getting extra compensation to keep quiet. Once I had built up enough revenue for that, I was ready to call it quits. I had the financial stability I needed, and the work was brutal. I was worn down physically and emotionally. But it was a job and its time had come to an end, I was ready to close this chapter of my life.

At least that’s what I thought.

I didn’t realize that my plan didn’t matter. This wasn’t about me or my desires, this job was a permanent role, not temporary. Not part-time. Not freelance.

It started the first day I logged on and wished a stranger good luck on a surgery they were about to have. A soon as I hit “send,” a sharp pain radiated across my back. I ignored it and went about my day, limiting my time online and keeping any interactions I had light and pleasant.

I woke up the next morning with pain unlike any I had ever experienced in my life. It wasn’t just a normal ache, it felt as though something was trying to rip its way out of my body. I jumped out of bed and ran to the mirror—on my back had grown a hump so large it changed my posture and made my shoulders asymmetrical. I tried to book an appointment with my doctor but his office wasn’t returning my calls. I thought about going to urgent care, but the thought of anyone seeing me in my current state made me weary. The pain subsided, but the shape of my back did not.

That was just the beginning.

Next came the ears forming into points. That was for complimenting someone’s selfie. Then warts, those were for sharing posts about people’s lost pets. For each political commentary I agreed with, I lost another clump of hair. For each political post I respectfully disagreed with, I gained more hair on other parts of my body.

And the grotesque lumps all over? Those were from donating to charitable GoFundMes.

Suddenly the tables were turned and I was the target—but it wasn’t online. It was everywhere I went. No one could bear the sight of me, and neither could I. Unwilling to return to my previous employ, I lost everything I had. And with such a hideous appearance, no one would hire me or allow me a place to live.

So now I hide. I stay under this bridge and watch people pass by, it’s the only way I have any contact with the outside world. This is who I am now, forever. The only good thing is that I have no access to the internet down here, so, at the very least, I have some peace.

Please heed my warning: don’t hurt other people for profit, even if it’s behind a computer screen.

And, whatever you do, never accept a job offered to you from S.N. ESTER, INC.