Live Broadcast, Dead Girl's Revenge

Name: Live Broadcast, Dead Girl's Revenge
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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Two years have passed since my death. Now, my old roommate, Jessica, stands on a grand stage, accepting the "Annual Community Contributor" award. Millions across the nation are watching her flawless smile, her humble nod-a true paragon of virtue. Then, a catastrophic glitch. My old laptop's desktop, with a candid photo of my stepbrother Michael, flickers onto the massive screen behind her. Michael, in the front row, snarls loud enough for every microphone to catch it, "What is that dead girl's junk doing here? So damn disrespectful!" The live chat goes wild, demanding this "trash" be removed, calling me sick, a psycho, forever "bad news." The host, David, clicks open my "Sarah's Private Posts" folder, exposing my innermost thoughts, my hidden struggles, one excruciating entry at a time. He reads my very first post-detailing a secret donation I made, the same one Jessica brazenly claimed as the start of her own famous charity work. Jessica feigns shock and Michael, clutching her hand, reinforces their elaborate deception, branding me as an obsessive, selfish liar who brought all her troubles on herself. My name, once again, is dragged through the mud, my tragic end blamed on my own "faults," even from beyond the grave. The cameras fixate on Jessica's carefully staged sorrow, Michael's theatrical disgust, and the world believes them, condemns me. Didn't my sacrifices, my pain, my desperate attempts to uncover the truth mean anything? But David, the host, doesn't stop. He scrolls to the next post, and the one after that. They have no idea what else I left behind. Because my carefully documented words, my secret recordings, and undeniable evidence are about to bring their entire empire crashing down, live on national television.

Modern Bully Kickass Heroine Revenge Personal growth

Chapter 10

10-22 13:33

Introduction

Two years have passed since my death.

Now, my old roommate, Jessica, stands on a grand stage, accepting the "Annual Community Contributor" award.

Millions across the nation are watching her flawless smile, her humble nod-a true paragon of virtue.

Then, a catastrophic glitch.

My old laptop's desktop, with a candid photo of my stepbrother Michael, flickers onto the massive screen behind her.

Michael, in the front row, snarls loud enough for every microphone to catch it, "What is that dead girl's junk doing here? So damn disrespectful!"

The live chat goes wild, demanding this "trash" be removed, calling me sick, a psycho, forever "bad news."

The host, David, clicks open my "Sarah's Private Posts" folder, exposing my innermost thoughts, my hidden struggles, one excruciating entry at a time.

He reads my very first post-detailing a secret donation I made, the same one Jessica brazenly claimed as the start of her own famous charity work.

Jessica feigns shock and Michael, clutching her hand, reinforces their elaborate deception, branding me as an obsessive, selfish liar who brought all her troubles on herself.

My name, once again, is dragged through the mud, my tragic end blamed on my own "faults," even from beyond the grave.

The cameras fixate on Jessica's carefully staged sorrow, Michael's theatrical disgust, and the world believes them, condemns me.

Didn't my sacrifices, my pain, my desperate attempts to uncover the truth mean anything?

But David, the host, doesn't stop.

He scrolls to the next post, and the one after that.

They have no idea what else I left behind.

Because my carefully documented words, my secret recordings, and undeniable evidence are about to bring their entire empire crashing down, live on national television.