We are who we say we are

In a small house in Seaside, Florida, ten fat and greasy fingers type with astonishing speed across a sticky laptop, making an interesting beat to match with the whirring of the machine balanced carefully on two thick knees. Discarded snacks and energy drinks crowd the small halo of light emitting from the device, which barely illuminates the sagging chest of the owner. The room, which is shrouded in shadows, bears an oppressive smell of body odour and unwashed clothes, but the scent has no influence over its creator.

Anthony Kolski, or otherwise known as Eddie Jones, is a sad, shameful man.

Years ago he was an athletic, confident man, a sergeant in the US Marines, playfully called the Fortress by his comrades. Now covered in jowls, pustules, straggly hair and crumbs. His once deep chest instead rests heavily on the ever-sweating rolls of his belly, which obscures his view of a formerly much used member. From military garb to fat pants, from leader to loser, Anthony hasn't smiled in years.

A small message comes up on the glowing screen in front of his eyes, and he struggles frantically to locate a small black cord somewhere beneath the confusion that makes up his bed. His fingers find the prize and triumphantly pull it from beneath his soft bum and enters the end into his laptop, his life support. He returns to his task, collecting more photos  for Eddie Jones, a twenty-one-year-old personal trainer based in Miami. Thoughtfully he selects pictures from an album of pictures showing Eddie, Anthony, laughing with his friends, laughing with his parents, laughing with his work colleagues. His grubby hand locates his mouse amidst the folds of his body and he selects 'post', then leans back and stares hopefully at the screen. It is past three in the morning.

Thousands of kilometers away in Campden, Massachusetts, a frail woman reclines on worn futon and scrolls excitedly through a collection of photos depicting a handsome young man, named Eddie Jones. The owner of the body uncomfortably stretched over the futon is Sarah Lewis, a wispy woman in her forties. She had been a follower of his online for a few weeks now and had been working up the right way to message him. The right way, of course, was Sasha Levine, a gymnast from Hawaii with an addiction to posting bikini pictures. Sasha, or Sarah, was outgoing and fun loving as her profile would suggest. Holding her phone close to her face, her eyes sparkle beautifully when illuminated by images of Eddie Jones, making it easy to forget the deep lines carved into the contours of her skull and the grey skin stretched over her protruding cheekbones.

She draws in a shallow breath and lays the cellphone on her chest, momentarily fatigued. She stays this way for several minutes before her lounge door creaks open.
"Oh, mum." A small voice, twisted with grief, echoes across the room. Sarah's eyes weakly opened, and she saw a woman standing cautiously in the doorway, a gorgeous woman, with bright blonde hair and ice blue eyes.
"Have you eaten today?" The small voice returned, "Are you thirsty?"
Sarah managed a nod, which was a lie. Sarah hadn't eaten in three days.

After an excruciatingly slow period of cajoling and coaxing, Sarah's daughter managed to get her mother fed, hydrated and asleep in her bed. She had returned to the lounge and was in the process of preparing for her yoga routine when a flash of light flickered into the edges of her eyes. Sarah had received a message. Briefly peering at it, she considered the consequences on her moral integrity if she read the message, so instead she artfully rolled away.

Anthony sweated nervously as he awaited a response from his dream girl. Hesweated all the way through to sunrise, and eventually fell into a deepslumber. He was awoken by his brother knocking on his door, around five in theevening.
"Come in" He said, his voice thick with sleep. His brother cautiously openedthe door, and a stream of light sliced through the shadows.
"Christ Ant, open a window!" He exclaimed, "I've brought you dinner. How areyou today? Have you been outside?"
"No. What's for dinner?" Anthony replied, the sleep in his voice mixed with alistless, toneless murmur.
"Chicken Teriyaki, with veggies!"
"Just leave it on my desk"
"Why don't you come and sit with us?"
Us meant his brother and sister-in-law, which meant sitting round a table anddiscussing the events of the day under a well-lit table. Anthony didn't like tobe in the light, and he had slept all day, his dreams full of turbulence andgunfire.
He had nothing to say.
His brother sighed and muttered something about healthy attitudes beforeallowing the door to creak closed, leaving Anthony with the smell of chickenteriyaki mingling with his own coarse scent. He reached up behind, carefully,as not to open the curtain and edged open a window before greedily rolling overto his meal and attacking it with a fury reminiscent of a wild boar. Returningto his bed, he opened his laptop and stared with surprise at the screen. Sashahad messaged back.

The next few days, Sarah and Anthony were in a state of bliss. The sorryquality of their existence was extinguished by the flurry of messages they sentacross media waves. Curtains were opened, grapes were swallowed. Anthony evenhad dinner with his brother, and Sarah managed to do some yoga with herdaughter. For a fleeting time, the two of them had entered a new reality, areality of their making, where they were happy, significant and whole.

It was around four in the afternoon inMassachusetts when Sarah's daughter met Sasha.

Sarah had been on her phone and smiling when her daughter came in to visit.This was cause for intrigue, as her mother had rarely smiled since her fatherleft. After Sarah had retired to her small bed and curled up like a bony oldcat, her daughter snuck into her room and stole her phone. Her delicate,well-manicured fingers were expertly able to bypass the security, and thennavigate the many applications. What she saw made her furious, then she criedsilently.
Sarah's daughter's name is Sasha.
What could she do? Her mother had finally started to show signs of life, signsSasha hadn't seen in a decade, all because she had transformed herself onlineinto her daughter, and was talking to a handsome character who seemed togenuinely care, asking questions about her spirit, her soul, her mind. Facing atough decision, Sasha decided to turn the other cheek, and closed the phone.Tears were streaming from her sparkling eyes, and she went and stared atherself in the mirror for a while. She did look like her mother backwhen she was healthy.

Eddie Kolski stormed into his brother's room, not bothering to keep the lightfrom his cowering brother.
"What the FUCK is this?" He yelled, his hand gripping Anthony's laptop.
"You made a fucking online profile of me? You've been pretending to be me? You coward!"His tirade continued. His brother just lay there babbling.
"You are pathetic Anthony. I'm glad mum and dad aren't here to see what you'vebecome."
Anthony pulled himself to his feet and made a feeble attempt at the laptop.
"Please, - Eddie - , try to – tounderstand" His cheeks wobbled as he stumbled over the words.
"Understand what? You fat fuck!" Each word he said was imbued with disbelief.
He scorned his once great brother.
"LISTEN!" Anthony replied, straightening himself up. The light from the doorcast a shadow over his body, and for a moment he had become the man he was.
"I need that! My life is in ruins. Look at me! I'm los-"
"You don't deserve my pity"
"Just – listen. Please".
"Having your face online allowed me to.... To be real! If you delete that I willlose everything. I want to be normal again. I want to live Eddie. Ican't go outside looking like this. That life is all I have!"
"Then you have no life, Anthony. I want you gone by tomorrow." Eddie stareddown at his brother; his eyes hard, rigid. Anthony made one last attempt atsnatching the laptop but was shoved angrily back onto his bed where he laythere, miserable and whimpering, tears running rivulets through the grease ofhis rounded face. His brother brought the laptop up above his head and with twothick hands slammed it down onto his knee, forever silencing the whirringmachine.