#BloodOnTheirHandsFCC

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A webcam flickers on, a few LEDs insufficiently lightly a large, and very dark room. In the center of the footage is a dark figure. “Hello, Internet” It is a clear voice. Slightly shaking, yet resolute. “I…” The speaker hesitates with heavy emotion in her voice. She clears her throats and begins. “It seems, some people have forgotten about respect and decency, for others. This is what I see going on with this entire net neutrality issue. I’m not upset about the entire ‘death of the internet’ thing, per se, but what hurts the most is to watch the complete and utter lack of compassion or regard for others. To see someone care so little, is painful.” A pause. The stream becomes particularly bad, details becoming even more unclear. At this point, a noise of static or sobbing could be heard. “The people working against Net Neutrality must understand that they are sewing the misery of thousands of other, living, feeling, humans. People who have hopes, family, and dreams. I may be getting a bit too dramatic, but the Internet’s fucking pretty important to survive. Without Net Neutrality, searching for jobs, starting businesses, and other economic activities will become unnecessarily hard for the poor, those unable to pay for decent, uncensored internet. This only forces the poor further into poverty. Seriously, Net Neutrality improves lives.” She collects her thoughts while fidgeting with something in her hands. Something glints in her hands. “But you didn’t come here to see me rabble on about baseless arguments. Anyone could argue endlessly over ill sourced evidence using ill thought out arguments on whether or not Net Neutrality is good or bad. That’s what the internet and the FCC are for. We all want something definitive, something undisputable, something… …tangible, real, of the flesh.” Old curtains are drawn open, momentarily blinding the camera. The lense focuses onto the speaker. A young girl, looking to be around 17 years of age, is standing in an orderly, but dusty bedroom in front of a webcam, clasping a long knife. “The issue with something like Net Neutrality is that the people that make the decision don’t see the suffering they indirectly cause. I don’t think they could if they tried. I don’t even the victims could see it. But I’d like to change that.”

The girl smiles morbidly.

“I am gruesomely committing suicide, because Net Neutrality is being repealed.” She chuckles, pauses, then continues. “Perfect isn’t it? It really is perfect. My death will be absolute and indisputable evidence proving that repealing Net Neutrality caused suffering; mi. Better yet, I am dying for a glamorous cause, after the short and sweet life of a modern teenager. This is infinitely better than living an entire lifetime of mediocrity. Dying after a lifetime of failure, filled with regret, and with no meaning or legacy. I am simply too spoiled and too horrible to be able to lead a life as a decent human being.” Tears well up in her eyes, against her will. Try as she might to wipe them away, she only brings herself to cry more. But she continues, resolute. Her hands shake, clutching the grip of the knife. She slowly brings it up to her stomach. She flinches, then hesitates, out of a visceral fear for her own life. Stalling, she attempts to begin speaking again, failing, stumbling on her own quivering lip. She attempts again; “Really this should have been easier. I mean, it was so easy and beautiful when I rehearsed it, and when I fantasized but…” A pause, she begins stalling. “Wouldn't it be glorious, to join me? To die, to save the rights of others? This is just like the military, but, easier, more pretentious, and certainly more melodramatic.” She seems uncertain. As if she is no longer attempting to convince the viewer, but rather, herself. “Sacrificing your life to condemn your enemies. Sacrificing yourself to save a freedom of your country. When you put it that way, it seems wrong not too.” Then, against every impulse and good intention, cold steel embraced warm flesh. Her organs were completely unprepared for the edge of a device designed over hundreds of years specifically to flat meat. After years of misuse, her organs simply gave up any struggle for survival once the blade entered her stomach. The incision was reckless, and thoughtless. It was much too large. Soon, blood and bile burst forth and danced in the sunlight harmoniously, as a 17 year old girl fell to the ground, writhing in agony. Whatever she expected, death was greater than it. Pain became less of a feeling and more of a new reality. She immediately regretted her decisions, every one leading up to this point in her life. Nothing was greater than or justified this. She cried to no one for help. At this time, her assorted eviscera had aquatinted themselves with the soft carpet quite well. As was torment aquatinted with anguish. Hope and life bled from her wound, being replaced readily with humility and regret. In her last thoughts, she wondered if death defeated the purpose of making such a bold point, as once you’re dead, being right no longer matters to you anymore. Nothing does. But the camera didn’t capture her pain or regret. All it saw was a smiling corpse, proving a point in macabre manner. And then, there was blood on someone's hands.

Transcribed by Lena Lochran