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Brian loved his phone. Just absolutely fucking adored it. All day he held it close to him as though it were a new born goose and he were afraid that some great albatross may swoop down, gather it in it’s jaws and fly off into the yonder.

Suzie, his wife, didn’t love the phone. She hated it. One day she found a girl dead on the ground. She’d been run over by a drunk driver that had sped off into the night, never to be seen again. The body, twisted and broken, still made her wake up in the middle of the night screaming and sweating.

When she had arrived home, brought to her front door by a police officer, Brian had led her into the front room and placed her on the sofa, before heading back to the front door to see the officer off.

“She’s going to need a lot of support,” she had said. “She’s seen something tonight that will stay with her for years.”

Brian had nodded and told her that he understood, and thanked her for her help before shutting the door behind her. Before heading back into the living room, he just quickly slipped his phone, his shiny, smooth phone, out of his pocket and quickly checked Instagram. He’d posted a video earlier where he’d done a dance he’d learned from the internet. Sure enough, there they were. 9 likes and 5 comments.

He peered round the corner. Suzie was lying sobbing on the sofa, her head buried in her hands. She hadn’t seen him – excellent.

He opened the comments.

Hey, loser, your 50. Look after your kids of something.

What the fuck did I just watch

Is this guy for real?

This is why you should have to get a license before you Instagram.

Wow! You nailed it!

Four idiots and one person with some sense. He liked the last comment and a smile came over his face.

The others were just haters, he knew that. The dance rocked and he killed it and the was just obvious. Warmth filled his heart and he stood in the hallway just so happy with life.

“Brian!” came a sobbing voice from the lounge. Shit, yeah. Suzie.

He supressed the smile that had taken over his face and marched in the living room, the hot phone pushed down into his pocket.

“Hey baby,” he said, sitting down and stroking her hair. “How you doing?”

“Not good,” she said, sitting up. Her eyes were shot red with blood and mascara streaked down her face. She wiped away tears only for more to take their place. “That poor girl.”

“I know dear, I know. No one deserves that.”

“She…she was just so mangled,” she said. “Her bones were…so twisted up.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. What could that be? His Apple Watch was upstairs on charge. Ordinarily he could have just turned his wrist to see whether it was something important like a like or a retweet, or whether it was just something that could be easily ignored like a message from his father or a work email.

“That sounds awful,” he said, his hands itching to reach into his pockets and retrieve his device. “Maybe a nice cup of tea would help.”

He went to stand up. His phone buzzed again. His brain hurt he wanted to check it so bad.

“Could you just stay with me for a moment,” she said. “I just want to be held.”

The sigh forced it’s way out of his nose like a mouse escaping from a trap. Immediately he knew he’d fucked up. She stared up at him, tears in her eyes. His phone buzzed again.

“Got something better to do?” she spat.

“No…” he said, inching away from her. His hand crept towards his pocket. Try as he might, he couldn’t help himself.

Buzz. Buzz buzz buzz. Buzz. The phone was moving so vigorously in his pocket that it made his leg itch.

“You want to check it, don’t you?” she said, her eyes consumed with hate. Understandable, given the circumstances. But still, he lusted after his phone. He wanted it, to feel it in his hand, to slide his finger over the smooth glass, to stare into it’s front facing camera and unlock it’s magic and to reveal it’s secrets. What was the cause of the buzzing? Was it love? Oh how he hoped it was love, that the strangers on the internet were finally voicing their approval, that it wasn’t all in vein.

Suzie was saying something. He was lost in his own mind, in his own fantasy. The tendons in his arm hurt from overuse, from too much flicking between posts. What were they saying? WHAT WERE THEY SAYING?

The word escaped his lips as his hand dove into his pocket.

“Sorry.”

Out it came.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Fuck it. With a painful flick of his thumb he switched it from silent to hear the glorious “ping” of the notification. Finally – something was happening? Had he made it? Would he finally – FINALLY – be getting sent food in the mail for free? Would he finally be able to argue with multiple people in the comments about HIS opinions? Would his fans argue amongst themselves? It was all so tantilisingly close. So within reach. He stared into the phone and opened it up…

And then the stars came. He felt the phone drop from his hand and hit the floor and he hoped to God that the screen hadn’t smashed. Still it pinged. Almost as quickly as they came the stars disappeared and he could see Suzie standing above him, the handle of their 20 year old vase dangling in her hand. Blood trickled from the wound on his head. Shattered glass lay everywhere around him. The handle of the vase dropped to the floor and he watched as she padded out of the room and into the kitchen. As his head swam he rolled onto his front and lay his hands palm down on the floor, pushing with all his might to get to his feet and failing. Fuck his head hurt.

Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Said his phone. He reached out for it, picked it up – the screen was still intact. He wanted to cry he was so happy. Quickly he swiped his thumb across the front of the screen – nothing. It wouldn’t open. Didn’t recognise his face.

Why?! Why!? Why now? Why didn’t it recognise him? Then, as his eyes stung and the world around him turned red he realised – it was the blood from his head wound dripping over his face. It was obscuring his phone’s view. It wasn’t the phone’s fault! Of course it wasn’t. How could he expect it to recognise him given the mask of blood he was now wearing.

It asked him for his passcode and he quickly dialled it in. As he did so he felt a sudden rush of pain as his wife grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head backwards. A small yelp escaped from his lips.

“Please, babe, can I just check this a minute?” he said. And then the blade of the knife from the kitchen - the knife he had bought when he was trying out recipes he’d seen first on Tik Tok and then in more detail on YouTube – dug into his throat and with one swift movement tore it in two. He gasped and gurgled and felt the warm blood hit his chin and his chest and then he fell forwards, his hands clutching at the open wound.

“Fuck you,” she said, throwing the knife at him and walking out of the room.

Quickly he faded. The world around him grew dimmer.

Ping! Ping! Ping!

It still wanted him. Despite it all, it still wanted him. He released his hand from his throat and felt the blood ooze quicker and fumbled around on the floor, eventually feeling the steel of his phone in his hands. He picked it up – it was still open from before. He opened Instagram.

2,022 likes and counting. Every second the number grew larger.

He opened the comments.

“Dude! This is hilarious!”

A smile enveloped his face and then all was black.

THE END