angela's ghost haunts the feeds.
[user offline] a faint willowy veiled feeling across our electron receptors. on the internet your death is frequent. at logout the timer starts. if you are alive, you log in again. this happens in cycles, dictated by your lives. the longer the clock runs, the farther you slip into obscurity. dropping off the search results, no longer showing up in notifications. has [user] posted...
they call me the detective.
that’s not a name i would have chosen for myself. it was foisted on me, not by adulant masses but by one thoughtless soul in a single offhanded interaction. of course it stuck. now i use it to describe myself merely for the sake of brevity. no one would know who i am otherwise. if i am to be called “detective” i must go rooting around in that word to understand what i am to...