I’m slumped in my bathroom, leaning against the bath. I made sure it was impossible for me to get out.
As I type this on my phone, my hands shake from all the energy drinks I have consumed in the last few days.
I am EXHAUSTED. I haven’t washed, brushed my teeth or changed my clothes in around a week. My stomach grumbles, not sure when I last ate or slept.
Not that it will matter soon.
Not that anything I write will matter soon.
I’m slightly rambling and, as time is of the essence, I should probably be more concise.
Hi, my name is Doug.
I am 5 “11, short blonde hair, blue eyes, keep myself in shape. I am fairly outgoing, I enjoy watching formula one racing and my dirty little secret is that I also enjoy cheesy romantic comedies. The kind always on at Christmas time. So bad they’re good.
Wait, this isn’t a Tinder profile.
Don’t really know how to start.
What has driven me to write this is…I don’t know. So that my life might matter, this post may be the only evidence that I existed at all, given what has happened.
My town has a population of 5, 000 people. Very quaint, but remote. All very friendly in contrast to the bitter wind that seems to be a daily occurrence.
Very rarely any crime, I know because my dad is the head of the PD and I ask him about it constantly. Stuff like that intrigues me.
So, a few weeks ago, I was at a work party. Real expensive. Was about 11pm, early in the night.
It was that point where the air is thick with sweat and tinged with particles of alcohol, that comes with a good party. Even if it is a work one.
I was drinking, a rare occurrence, and was in a group of 10, all huddled around a wooden table, most of us stood up.
Two of my co-workers, probably my best friends at work, were doing the old “spread a hand on the table and try to avoid stabbing yourself as you speed the knife up” game, but it was apparently the final and so they were using a massive steak knife they had flirted off of a waitress.
These people are scientists by day and morons by night. But then, so am I.
Chop chop chop chop chop
Faster and faster until the inevitable…well, I didn’t notice any sound except for the “AHHHH FUCK!”
Blood gushed over the table, a mix of laughing, screaming and “Aw bro!” Chorused around the table, and soon the room.
I staggered into action up to the wounded party, Greg. “Oh shit Greg you alright mate?”
“Yeah bud I see I stabbed my hand,” Greg paused to look at the knife pinning his hand to the table, surprisingly calm, “don’t even feel it mate.”
“That’s the shock for you, don’t do things by halves do you Greg? Anything to get a day o, right?”
We exchanged a little chuckle between us but my shitty joke failed to break the tension. The venue happened to be hosting a medical conference too so got one of them to attend to Greg.
Not going to lie, I wanted to go with him for 90% the experience and 10% moral support, so I did. My job was to keep him calm, which I was alright at.
We got to the hospital about twenty minutes later and, as they wheeled Greg away behind “no entry” doors, I sat down. I fell into a nap and when I woke myself up not long after, I took stock of my surroundings.
It was quiet, too quiet for prime time on a Friday night. Don’t get me wrong, there were people there, but there was no crying in pain, sneezing or coughing.
They were just sat there, waiting their turn. Maybe talking to each other quietly. One guy didn’t even flinch as the doctors pushed his socket back into place. He just looked at it.
Bored of sitting, thinking my brain was having too much creativity for my liking, I walked around. There was such an eerie silence that it actually made me pick my feet up as I walked, hearing my stomping.
For some reason, one of the doors showed me the pre-op and there seemed to be some problem with the anaesthetic, as the patient was not falling asleep. They shrugged and instead tried a different method, up the nose with a massive tube with a camera attached.
I won’t dwell on it, just know that I did NOT care to witness that so moved on.
Next day, Greg is fine, he stays in the hospital.
I sat at home in my boxers, crisps littering my form, racing on my TV, scrolling through my phone, occasionally replying to a text asking about Greg, when I see someone I follow post-
“LOL Must look worse than it is! Can’t feel anything! #hardcore #thuglife #oops #nofeels”
This is attached to a truly disturbing image. Made me nauseous so I quickly hid in the comments, which consisted of lots of “alpha males” and the like saying was it SFX or CGI, and suggesting to prod at it. You get the idea. Later, when I was curious to look again, it had been deleted.
My eyes widen as it hits me. I scroll through the #nofeels hashtag and there are over 300 results, all from my hometown, all from people showing injuries varying in intensity, from a paper cut to …
SOMEONE ACTUALLY LIVE-STREAMING THEMSELVES from a car crash, very popular of course, with twisted legs stuck in the car, an eye popping out, and other injuries. When I left the stream, the chat was saying it was a movie set, and as I clicked off her legs started burning as they laughed and asked people to like.
All of these people are saying they can’t feel their injuries.
The interactions aren’t just from the town, though. A mix of concern and “wow, great makeup!”.
But there were a third selection of chat and comments, of which they wanted a “part 2!” Or for the person to cause more harm to themselves, wrapping it under the nice “challenge” banner.
Daily, there were more. Only from my town. However, after a week, the “#nofeels” hashtag had turned into the aforementioned challenge videos, with people trying out ever more harmful things, so what if they removed their fingers, as long as they were still top content creator.
The hashtag became the number one trending hashtag for my town. This incredibly small place was now on the map and the sudden fame went right to people’s heads. They needed more.
Those in my town that didn’t tend to use that platform were sometimes used as pawns and experiments in order to gain more popularity, these subjects were actually willing.
A leaderboard randomly appeared on my TV, the only thing it would turn to. I turned it off.
NO. I do NOT believe that this was human nature, how could I? I mean, as I sit here I think how it would be possible???
Toxic hallucination inducing gas leak?? Evolution??? WHAT?
I mean, just… WHAT?!
I last went outside about three days ago. People just walking around normally but in various states of…what do you call it?…fucking… I don’t know.
The more they injured themselves or their willing subjects the more they seemed to become what I can only describe as “dead behind the eyes” or “desensitised”.
After a while they stopped smiling. They just ripped themselves apart. Didn’t even film.
However, they would only notice someone if they had caused themselves an injury already, no matter how big or small.
People willing to be filmed being eaten, burned, tortured, drowned, all while smiling. I didn’t stick around to see if they died.
I have not had any injuries, intentional or not, since probably 3 months ago, so I am in the clear. They didn’t even seem to notice me so I stayed clear.
I barricaded myself in this room yesterday.
My theory? I have two which I am considering - cliché alien zoo/experiments or a kind of virus.
But, as I say, it won’t matter.
Put something on any platform on the internet and no-one will believe you.
I’ve got my favourite drink, even though I’m normally not a drinker, and all of these pills here.
Oh, forgot to mention, my bath?
It’s currently filing up with acid. Highly corrosive acid. It took a while but I made sure the entire room was lined with high density polyethylene.
Unsure if anyone will care, or notice, in this town. I just know I don’t want to be one of them.
Wonder if I will feel it.
What would give me the greatest of a last relief? If I felt it or if I didn’t?
Maybe that’s why I’m doing this.
I’m starting to feel dizzy and have difficulty breathing, due to the vapours. Also starting to weep as writing it down causes it to become real… but the irony is that whoever reads this will just think it is a fake story.
Anyway, signing off.
Doug Fletcher
08-12-2000 to 16(give or take)-03-2023
PS - Do you like the title? I’ve always been the comedian in my little group. Dark sense of humour, perhaps.
One last joke. The joke of a dead man.
I wonder what will be the thing that breaks the disbelief.
Probably not this.
Which is a shame.
For me.