"Chat, I'm dying."
And they laughed.
All of them.
"Seriously, chat, I'm dying."
They laughed more. One of them even sent me a gift.
I muted my cheap mic for a moment and sighed.
"Thanks for the gift, BigDig99."
They laughed again as I read out the name. My self-made avatar moved clumsily, and the background hum and hiss rudely intruded as my words failed to sync perfectly with its lips.
It always went this way.
I'm a frigging joke, stuck with these motherfuckers, trying to make it as a VTuber.
I thought I had everything. Horrible voice, a quirky sense of humor, a bit of unhingedness.
But why?
Why do the other VTubers who seem to be exactly that—with a horrible voice, a quirky sense of humor, and a bit of unhingedness—blow up and have hundreds, some even thousands, of viewers each stream while I could count myself lucky if I got more than 7 viewers watching?
I tried many things.
I chased trends and played games that were popular. Didn't work.
I went edgy and streamed playing indie games. Didn't work.
My you-laugh-you-lose challenges were so bad I was the only person making an effort not to laugh.
I did all sorts of challenges that everyone else seemed to be doing but somehow my streams and videos uploaded across at least twelve different media platforms never took off.
One day I got so sick of it, sick of it all, that I just decided to be myself and told everyone the truth.
"I'm dying, chat."
Someone laughed.
Then everyone followed.
That was probably the highest number of laughing emojis I've ever received on my stream. More than any other jokes I've ever told.
Since then, I tried to tell the story—my real story—a few times. But it happened every time. Nobody really asked even once, "for real?"
'That's it for the stream today, again.'
I turned off the stream and threw myself onto my bed, buried my face in the pillow, and cried like a pathetic little baby.
I was dying, and no one cared.
"What's up, Bree? Crying again?"
A sudden whisper into my ear.
Aw, fuck off—
"BRIAN! HOW MANY TIMES DID I TELL YOU NOT TO COME INTO MY ROOM?!"
I yelled at the little pest, my younger brother.
"How many times can you forget locking the door?"
He mused, sipping on his soy milk through a plastic straw.
"What the hell do you want?"
"I'm hungry. Mom just texted saying she can't come back for dinner again."
I sat up on my bed, wiped off my tears, and blinked.
"So, like, yeah—maybe you should order something for us to eat."
"I'm skint."
"Figures. I suppose your streaming thing still isn't going well."
"None of your business."
"Why don't you get a proper job?"
"Why don't you fuck off?"
Brian said nothing for a moment, then suddenly raised his hand, and patted my head slowly.
"Stop it."
"There, there."
"I said stop it."
He shrugged and headed toward the door.
"There's some pasta in the cupboard. I'll cook some Carbonara."
With that, he left the room and closed the door behind him.
I plopped myself back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
"I can't believe you guys are siblings."
A voice emerged from the darkness, crawling out from under the bed.
"Now, don't you get started."
Shadow rose from the floor, forming into a figure of a lady in a black suit. Her face shimmered in thick black flame, no eyes or other features visible. It always creeped me out a little.
"I should have chosen him instead."
"Cut it out."
"At this rate, you will die alone," she hit where it hurt. Not for the first time.
"And you are not helping it."
"My power depends on you, Bree. Without your success, we are doomed together."
"Can't you, like, help me out a little? Aren't you supposed to have some superpowers?"
"Powers must be earned."
"Heck, you need ME to earn YOUR power."
"Hence my regret in the choice I made."
I clenched my fist tightly, opened it again, and repeated the process a few times.
"How long do I have left?"
"Not long."
"I want the exact time."
"If I told you I'd have to kill you."
I rolled my eyes.
Everyone was so useless.
EVERYONE.