Young Writers Society

XY.

(The following passage tells the story of X and Y, two infamous internet pranksters who reportedly were tied into a bet—whoever could shock the other with one prank would’ve been crowned the King of Pranks. We see their tale through their texts and YouTube comments, as both live continents away from each other, and for the sake of privacy we’ve used their usernames instead of their real ones.)

Saturday, 14th of April, 2013. On Y’s “COBRA DINNER SURPRISE” video:

“Rubber snakes. Funny.” –X.

“I thought you’d appreciate it.” –Y.

“It’s a classic, I know. Though to be honest, it’s quite overdone.” –X.

“I prefer your more convoluted schemes.” –X.

“Well, yes, but it grows cumbersome after some time.” –Y.

“It doesn’t need to be convoluted to produce the intended results, anyway. The trick here, old chap, is not in the concept, but the execution. Concepts are cheap. Anyone can come up with an original idea—but only the best of the best can revive the pleasure and excitement of an old one.” –Y.

“Stop philosophizing, this is YouTube, damn it. Put that masterpiece in a book, not a garbage dump.” –X.

“I will when you stop typing in full sentences, honey.” –Y.

“Don’t call me honey.” –X.

“Why not? It fits you so well. Because you’re exceptionally sweet xx.” –Y.

“Flirt.” –X.

“Oh, come now, you know you want me.” –Y.

“You’re not my type.” –X.

“Neither are you. Though I’m willing to make exceptions xx.” –Y.

“I think I liked you better pretentious than seductive.” –X.

“Oh, so it’s working on you then, sweetheart?” –Y.

“Shut your mouth, you condescending twat.” –X.

“:( .” –Y.

“You hurt me.” –Y.

“I thought you cared for me.” –Y.

“Go jump off a bridge.” –X.

(delay) “Maybe I will.” –Y.

“Goodbye, love.” –Y.

Monday, 12th of April, 2013.ON Y’s “GOODBYE Y” VIDEO:

Description: “This is Y’s mother; Y left this video on his desk. He hanged himself last night, because of a comment on YouTube. You all should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“Oh my god.” –X.

“Oh my god.” –X.

“I was kidding, you numbskull!” –X.

“You weren’t supposed to take it seriously. You weren’t. You wouldn’t have.” –X.

“You wouldn’t.” –X.

(Delay) “We were going to meet together. In London.” –X.

“Take over the world, remember?” –X.

“You wouldn’t have killed yourself. Not for that little thing.” –X.

"Was it your family? Is that what drove you to it?" -X.

(Delay) “We would’ve terrorized the streets in clown suits and Russian hit men outfits.” –X.

“We would’ve bombed universities with egg catapults and fake smoke and surprised the students that came out with buckets of slime.” –X.

“The Weather Master, the Fire Bender, the Zombie Doctor—did you forget all that? All the plans we made?” –X.

“We were going to take over the internet.” –X.

“What happened?” –X.

(delay) “I’m sorry.” –X.

“I’m so sorry.” –X.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear.” –X.

“It was all a mistake.” –X.

“I was wrong. And I will regret it for the rest of my days.” –X.

(delay) “I miss you.” –X.

“I miss you so much.” –X.

(delay) “I missed you too, honey.” –Y.

(delay) “SCREW YOU.” –X.

“Well, it’s your fault for falling for it. You know my mother wouldn’t give enough of a shit to actually carry out my final will.” –Y.

“WAS THAT ALL SOME SORT OF SICK JOKE YOU PSYCHOPATH.” –X.

“IS ME BREAKING DOWN EMOTIONALLY ENTERTAINING TO YOU, YOU SON OF A FEMALE GERMAN SHEPHERD.” –X.

“Don’t be so uptight, honey dearest.” –Y.

“I saw what I wanted to see.” –Y.

“I won’t bother you anymore, other than the usual malarkey.” –Y.

“;) .” –Y.

(delay) “I’m going to get you back.” –X.

“I swear, I’m going to get you back.” –X.

(delay) “As much as I like seeing you so fired up about my head on a silver platter, I must inform you here and now that ‘getting back at Y’ is not in the Merriam Dictionary. Nor the Oxford or Webster one.” –Y.

“Face it, honey. I’m the King of Absurdity and Shock. You can’t get back at the king.” –Y.

“Is that a challenge?” –X.

“I hear a challenge.” –X.

“Oh dear.” –Y.

“Here we go now.” –Y.

(delay) “Consider this—if I can successfully shock you,” –X.

“Which you won’t.” –Y.

“You’ll have to admit that I’m the better prankster.” –X.

“How about this; no competition of any sort, and I’ll declare you a place by my throne.” –Y.

“As my Queen, maybe.” –Y.

“;) xx” –Y.

“Shove that talk up your bottom end; I’m not listening to it.” –X.

“Do we have a deal?” –X.

“You know, the queenly crown isn’t too bad. In fact, I’d say it’s twice as pretty as mine.” –Y.

“With you wearing it, of course.” –Y.

“Yes or no?” –X.

“Well, I’d be no true Scotsman if I denied it. I accept.” –Y.

“Though if I’m going to battle my other half there’ll be other rules on the table.” –Y.

“If you manage to shock me, I’ll surrender my crown and be your counselor (as it’s obvious you’ll reject my hand if I ever offered).” –Y.

“But if I manage to shock you, when we meet up in London, you’ll have to kiss me (on the cheek, if you’re too prudish) and allow me to post a video of it here.” –Y.

(delay) “The Queen bargain is still open, if you’re too scared.” –Y.

“No need. I know how this is going to end.” –X.

“Deal.” –X.

“Ah, a risk taker, are you? You’ll look magnificent beside my throne, I just know it.” –Y.

“Start from today?” –Y.

“Today.” –X.

“May the best man win.” –Y.

“If I hear one more chivalrous sentence from you I’ll shove salami into your talk hole.” –X.

“Contrary to your beliefs, I think I’d quite enjoy that.” –Y.

“;) .” –Y.

Monday, 19th of April, 2013ON X’s “COMING OUT GUYS” VIDEO:

“Did I get you? @Y” –X.

(Delay) “Not in the slightest.” –Y.

“Honey, if I didn’t know you were gay I wouldn’t even be here typing to you.”–Y.

“Not that I wouldn’t try.” –Y.

“It would be a sparingly short conversation, of course.” –Y.

“Fuck you.” –X.

“And I’m not a poof.” –X.

“Can you hear that, my sweet Queen?” –Y.

“That’s the sound of denial.” –Y.

(Delay) “And several fangirls clicking the unsubscribe button.” –Y.

“I’m sure your publicist isn’t too happy with you lying.” –Y.

“Sod off.” –X.

(Delay) “And I’m not lying.” –X.

“Five minutes delay? Why, is that hesitation I smell in the air?” –Y.

“I believe we’re actually getting somewhere, honey.” –Y.

“Just shut up.” –X.

(Delay) “Oh I’m sure our son will take after your bashful nature.” –Y.

“And perhaps our daughter will take after my playful attitude. She’ll be as beautiful as Aphrodite, I’m sure.” –Y.

“FUCK YOU.” –X.

“Oh look.” –Y.

“The fans have returned to cite our conversation.” –Y.

“We must have quite the following on Tumblr.” –Y.

(Delay) “Ah yes, we do have a following on Tumblr. As expected. These folk love gay people as much as my family loves hunting them down and burying them in reparative therapy pamphlets.” –Y.

“And the girls’ are talented, too! Would you like me to link you to the fan fiction they’ve made?” –Y.

“Stop. Flirting. Publically.” –X.

“People are watching.” –X.

“Well, of course people are watching.” –Y.

“Everyone wants to look at a work of art.” –Y.

(Delay) “Why are you Yahoo Messaging me?” –Y.

“No, I will not stop posting here.” –Y.

“What coward would be afraid of the internet’s view of our relationship? If they’re hateful bigots with nothing to do other than forward vile messages to us, then it’s their problem, not ours. I should know. I live with them. Never stopped me, why should it stop the both of us?” –Y.

“Yes, we are.” –Y.

“Ten minutes delay!” –Y.

“I really am getting to you now, love.” –Y.

“Shut up!” –X.

“Ah, the snail comes out of his shell, eh?” –Y.

“Or perhaps I should use the closet analogy.” –Y.

“Still in denial, are you?” –Y.

“I am not in denial.” –X.

“Sure you aren’t.” –Y.

“Oh, and by the way, I’ve recently started a war against Vladimir Putin and am leading the rebel forces into St. Petersburg. Meanwhile my brother is working with Ukrainian insurgents to tear down the presidency and unite with the mother land’s rebels, and my sister is currently a politician in Lithuania negotiating a plan with the rest of the former USSR to become one once more. As one we shall conquer Europe and spark the new world order.” –Y.

“Also, I am vegetarian.” –Y.

“You know someone might actually report that to Russia, right?” –X.

“The First Amendment defends my freedom of speech.” –Y.

“You don’t live in America.” –X.

“Granted if I did, it would follow its father’s monarch ways.” –Y.

“Alright, now you have the fucking NSA painting targets on your head.” –X.

“Oh, do you really care?” –Y.

“I mean, really. Would you care if I was killed by the NSA, or any organization? If I was secretly a terrorist bombing little towns and killing children? Taking hostages? Maybe wanted for treason?” –Y.

(Delay) “Nice try.” –X.

“It was worth a shot.” –Y.

Thursday, 3rd of May, 2013.ON “LION HUNTRESS” VIDEO:

“Did you just…kiss that woman?” –X.

“You. Kiss. A woman.” –X.

“We did a little more than that. Afterwards.” –Y.

(Delay)“She has such dexterity under the sheets, honey dearest. You should’ve seen how wide she spread her legs. I would’ve called the nearest club to bring back their dancer, if I wasn’t enjoying it so much.” –Y.

(Delay) “Your prose is bland and your response was obviously thought out.” ­–X.

“’’If I wasn’t enjoying it so much’ –why would you need to point out your enjoyment to me? If you really were attracted to her, you wouldn’t care what I think. Caring what I think would be the last thing you’d do if you really were attracted to her, just below telling me about your midnight gymnastics.” –X.

“But you aren’t truly attracted to her. This is just another late ploy to get me to admit defeat and humiliate me in front of both our viewers. But I’ll let you in on something, Mister Mastermind Behind a Computer Screen.” –X.

“You will never stop wanting me.”–X.

“You will never stop being obsessed with my existence, my approval, simply because I’m the only thing you can’t hush into silence with wit and sardonic humor. Simply because I’m the only thing that you can’t joke your way out of. Why? Because I pique your interest. I’m the only thing on the web that won’t dismiss you as some fancy loner with sophisticated humor. You’re lonely, behind all your jokes and all your laughs and flirts. You genuinely want me. And if I were to say I’m jealous now, I’m at least eighty percent sure you’d shatter this little game of yours here and now.” –X.

“But I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t toy with another’s heart.” –X.

“Not like you would.” –X.

(Delay) “Well done.” –Y.

“My dear Queen’s twitching to be an empress.” –Y.

“Not even a tad shocked?” –X.

“Not an inch.” –Y.

“Though if I was, I’d only be pleasantly surprised.” –Y.

(Delay) “It looks like our battle has an audience, X.” –Y.

“You like breaking the fourth wall, don’t you?” –X.

“Hello, Comment Reader!” –Y.

“No, we’re not going to name our babies Aphrodite or Hera.” –Y.

“Doesn’t mean we won’t have them though.” –Y.

“;).” –Y.

“SHUT UP.” –X.

“Oh, don’t you mind it, my sweet Queen’s just warming up to the idea.” –Y.

“It won’t bother any of our plans. I can be very persuasive, after all.” –Y.

“;).” –Y.

“*chokes Y with leather*” –X.

“Kinky.” –Y.

“ERRRRRGGGGGGHHH.” –X.

Saturday, 6th of May, 2013.PERSONAL MESSAGE BETWEEN X & Y:

“You looked just about ready to crack there a few days ago, honey.” –Y.

“Maybe we should just call it a draw right now. Before anyone gets hurt.” –Y.

“London’s approaching, after all.”-Y.

“Scared, asshole?” –X.

(Delay) “What cruel words you use, my sweet Queen.” –Y.

“But I am a bit frightened. For you, at least.” –Y.

“I wouldn’t want anything happening to you.” –Y.

“The only thing getting hurt here is your ego.” –X.

“Honey.” –X.

“Was that a sarcastic italic word I saw?” –Y.

“You have no heart, I swear. I’m only looking out for your wellbeing.” –Y.

“I can take care of myself.” –X.

“Unlike you, I’m not a broken puppy in need of a groom.” –X.

(Delay) “Why do you loathe me so?” –Y.

“Does my flirting really frustrate you?” –Y.

“I don’t mean anything by it.” –Y.

“I don’t. Really.” –Y.

“Then stop doing it.” –X.

(Delay) “If that’s how it is.” –Y.

“Though to be fair, I only use it towards people I genuinely like.” –Y.

“Insufferable, I know. But I don’t know any better gift than to be true to who I am. I thought you deserved that, at least.” –Y.

(Delay) “You know how my parents are. My condition. I can’t afford to be…myself in real life. I can’t afford to be anything but the little straight boy with devilish urges, getting sent to Bible Camps and Christian psychiatrists. In the chat rooms, in the comment sections with you, I’m a human being. I’m a person. The people who call me ‘poof’ and ‘fag’, they don’t matter—nothing matters, in this realm of ours.” –Y.

“But you do. You matter to me, at least.” –Y.

“I’m sorry if that disconcerted you.” –Y.

(Delay) “Just shut up, alright?” –X.

“You’re not going to make me apologize.” –X.

“I’m done with your mind games.” –X.

“What mind games?” –Y.

“I’m not playing anything. Why would I be playing anything?” –Y.

(X has logged out of chat room).

“X?” –Y.

“X.” –Y.

(Delay) “I’m sorry.” –Y.

Saturday, 13th of May, 2013.ON X’s “WIZARD BATTLE MALL SHOWDOWN” VIDEO:

“You look handsome in a robe.” –Y.

“The baggy look fits you.” –Y.

(Delay) “Really? I thought you promised.” –X.

“You denied my promise.” –Y.

“Because it was another one of your tricks.” –X.

“If you say so, honey.” –Y.

“Don’t act like you’re the victim here. You’re the one sending compromising messages to me.” –X.

“If it suits your mindset.” –Y.

(Delay) “Are you doing the henpecked husband act?” –X.

“You are not doing the henpecked husband act.” –X.

“You are doing the henpecked husband act.” –X.

“Stop. Doing. The Henpecked. Husband. Act.” –X.

“It’s annoying and overused and I will not be your Hen Wife.” –X.

“I’m not, I’m not.” –Y.

“It’s just that I’d prefer you acknowledge your aggressions towards me and size up to it.” –Y.

“Defensive!” –X.

“You’re fucking acting defensive.” –X.

“You know defensiveness is third only to frustration and contempt in List-Of-Annoying-Things-People-Do?”

“I’m not being defensive.” –Y.

“Denial’s the fourth on the list.” –X.

“Look whose taunting.” –Y.

“I’m not in denial!” –X.

“You know, you look a lot like a cat with feathers in his mouth and an empty cage behind his back.” –Y.

“Your analogies make no sense.” –X.

“And what’s with all these hashtags?” –X.

“#XY?” –X.

“What the bloody hell is XY?” –X.

“Us.” –Y.

“It’s a ship name, darling.” –Y.

“No, Queen Anne’s Revenge is a ship name—nobody calls their ship after a pair of chromosomes.” –X.

“A ship as in a relationship. Their naming us together. The internet has decided our fate, tied us with a red string.” –Y.

“Strangled us with a red string, you mean.” –X.

“Not necessarily.” –Y.

“If you don’t like the name we could always change it to something else; Monarchy, for instance.” –Y.

“I’ll start it off: #Monarchy.” –Y.

“It’ll never trend.” –X.

“If you say so.” -Y.

(Monday, 15th of May, 2013.)

“Oh my god.” –X.

“Happy birthday!” –Y.

“Y, did you sell your soul to the fucking devil?” –X.

“How the in all of the seven hells did you get so many fag hags to trend it?” –X.

“Oh my god, they’re streaming reactions to our texts.” –X.

“This has gone too far.” –X.

“Don’t be so glum, dear. It’s such a beautiful day to be a member of the #Monarchy.” –Y.

“Taste the ambrosia, why don’t you?” –Y.

“For Christ’s sake, just drop the act.” –X.

“If that’s what you want, honey.” –Y.

(Delay) “You know what, how about you drop the act?” –Y.

“We all already know you love me just as much as I do you.” –Y.

“Why act coy? Let’s straighten things out, now.” –Y.

“Not here, you idiot.” –X.

“Why not? We’re already a thing, anyway.” –Y.

“Tell me, right here and now, X; do you like me, or don’t you?” –Y.

“God damn it, Y, shut up.” –X.

“Tell me.” –Y.

“We’re not going to do this.” –X.

“Not the maybe-yes-maybe-not-relationship act, it’s clichéd.” –X.

“So make this clear—is it maybe-yes or maybe-no?” –Y.

“Well what do you think?” –X.

“I think you don’t have a clue which is which.” –Y.

“It’s Maybe Yes, you snobby douche!” –X.

(Delay) “That’s not what I meant.” –X.

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT.” –X.

“No, it isn’t what you meant.” –Y.

“I’m sure you meant the Yes Yes variant.” –Y.

“That’s it, I’m done with this.” –X.

“I’m going to bed.” –X.

(Delay) “According to my calculations it’s five in the evening where you are.” –Y.

“You’re either a morning person or a liar. I’m not certain which is worse.” –Y.

“WILL YOU JUST” –X.

(Delay) “Will you just what?” –Y.

“nevermind.” –X.

“goodnight” –X.

(Delay) “douchebag.” –X.

“Goodnight, dear.” –Y.

Monday, 15th of May, 2013.

IN A PRIVATE CONVERSATION BETWEEN X & Y:

“X?” –Y.

“X, I need to tell you something.” –Y.

(Delay) “What is it?” –X.

“My father got on my computer.” –Y.

“I’m outside, texting on my phone.” –Y.

“We just got into another argument. He found me out.” –Y.

(Delay) “Jesus.” –X.

“I don’t want to go back home.” –Y.

“I don’t know if there’s a home for me to go back to.” –Y.

“You’re not trying to fool me again, are you?” –X.

“What? No!” –Y.

(Delay) “I’m scared. I don’t want to be here anymore, X.” –Y.

“You sure you’re not joking?” –X.

“Oh my God, shut the fuck up.” –Y.

“Look, I get it, okay? You’re not looking for a relationship; you don't want to act gay, fine. Fucking great for you. You get to be the normal one, and I get to be hiding in the park with belt marks and people screaming for me to get out of my own home.” –Y.

“You can be in denial, or normal, or whatever it is you are. Just—I just want a second to be normal too, see? I just want a second where I’m not the faggot.” –Y.

(Delay) “I’m not in denial.” –X.

(Y has logged out of the chatroom.)

“Y?” –X.

“Y.” –X.

(Delay) “I’m not!” –X.

Thursday, June 11, 2013.

PERSONAL MESSAGE BETWEEN X & Y:

“I bought the tickets.” –X.

“Where are we meeting then?” –X.

(Delay) “I think the Eye might be an interesting place to look at.” –X.

“Or the Sherlock museum.” –X.

(Delay) “Maybe Big Ben?” –X.

(2 hours delay) “Okay, this is getting ridiculous.” –X.

“You haven’t replied to any of my messages, you haven’t released a single video, and you’ve missed tweeting about the fucking hashtags.” –X.

“I mean, they’re everywhere. Literally everywhere.” –X.

“How are you not stoking the fire?” –X.

(2 hours delay) “You’re angry at me.” –X.

“You’re angry at my supposed denial.” –X.

“I’m not in denial.” –X.

“I’m not!” –X.

(2 hours delay) “What the fuck is wrong with you?” –X.

“Really. What the fuck is wrong with you?” –X.

(3 hours) “Fine. If that’s how you want to play it, fine. Silent Y is better than any Y.” –X.

Saturday, June 12, 2013.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU.” –X.

“FUCKING ANSWER ME.” –X.

Saturday, June 19, 2013.

ON “FOR Y” VIDEO.

The video starts with a rugged X. We shall censor the features for privacy reasons, but the words remain intact.

A baggy eyed X stares at the screen, blankly, his head evidently on more pressing matters. “Hey guys.” Plastic smile. Creased forehead. Eyes like shards of glass under moonlight. “I know you’ve guys been, um, expecting a video prepping for the—er--” Something ran across the screen, catching X’s attention. “The—the London trip. With Y.”

He turned to his own hands now, smiling. “Well, there won’t be one. This one is probably the closest you guys will ever get, but it’s not for you.” He looked up to the screen once more. Something changed in his glare. Something lit up. “It’s for Y.”

He leaned in, his eyes shuddering onto the screen. Branches of red veins, finding their way across oceans of opal white. Like a map of desperation and despair. “Now listen here, you asshole,” He started, changing the tone of his voice. “I don’t give a shit how sick you are, using the same joke twice. The disappearance or death sketch isn’t working anymore. It’ll never work. Not on me. So you fucking get your ass back up from the sewers, or Guantanamo Bay, or the abattoir, or whatever shithouse you’re hiding in, because it isn’t working. It isn’t working.” He yelled the last part, splitting ears for two wretched seconds. He breathed in, and exhaled. “Now come out. Right now.”

That was the end of it.

--

He imagined the other Youtuber quickly replying with a witty ‘You come out first’, an expected ‘Does this mean I win?’. All the replies were filled with nothing but, but none were made by him.

X never released another video until London—until July 15.

July 15.

Y never came.

X appeared the place they last discussed on the topic of meeting—in front of Buckingham Palace. Imagine it now: a young man, tired eyes glued on a phone screen, sitting beside a stone-still soldier. “Muskets, black and red, black and red,” he imagined the mild irritation sing, careless and reprehensible and strangely gripping.

“Muskets, black hearts, and red rain,” The Lonely would sing along, following the tune of a ghost. “Shot in the heart, shot down in flames.”

Supposedly, he made the video then. Disrupting the red and blacks. Causing unreasonable trouble. Apologizing for an absence to an audience that didn’t care. Did they wait for him? he thought. Did they search for his presence across the spider webs, the little dewdrops he might’ve left for the sake of posterity? Reread comments, rechecked timelines? Why would they, really? It’s the internet. What reality is there to be afraid of, on the kingdom without a crown? Nothing is real behind a computer screen. No emotion, no man, no work. Everything was eternal; that was why nothing’s worth fighting for.

But he saw a fight. A soul. A pulse, hidden underneath a wall of text. Where’s Y? a stylinson287 might say, What happened? A lostlenore345 would type out, or a It’s a little dull without Y from Anonymous. There were those who fought. The soul prevailed, even in pixels. Where was Y? they all asked.

He’d like to know as well.

PERSONAL MESSAGE BETWEEN X & Y

“You win.” –X.

“You get the crown.” –X.

“You’re the fucking master of the universe.” –X.

“Does it matter, anyway? It’s the internet. Claiming king here is like claiming king in Westeros.” –X.

(Delay) “But you’re king to me, anyway.” –X.

“And I imagine you’ll always be.” –X.

(Delay) “Goodbye, Y.” –X.