It started much like any other day. Alarm chirping in the corner of my room as the sun shines in through the windows. A new day filled with optimism and hope. Or so you would have thought. Little did I know what horrors were to come.
I booted up my laptop as I go to brush my teeth. On my return, I sit and check my emails as I normally do and then opened up a new tab and clicked the bookmark titled “Twitter”. The page gleefully opens telling me about what someone in Kent had for breakfast and what another person in Scotland has planned for their day. I put my laptop aside and picked out the clothes for the day ahead. Some jeans and a tshirt will do, I’m staying in all day. No need to be showy.
I return to my twitter page and click to refresh the page to see what I’ve missed out on in the last 3 minutes. Then I see it. “Something is technically wrong” says the page, “Thanks for noticing – we’re going to fix it up and have things back to normal soon” it assures me. There’s a little animation of an alien-style robot whose pincer hand has fallen off under the message. If you look a little closer, you can see that something that looks like blood is spurting from its arm.
Was this an omen? Where was the Twitter “Fail Whale”, getting carried away by little birds? The Fail Whale must be beached somewhere in cyberspace because all I see is this red eyed machine staring me in the face. I need Twitter back so I can tell people about the toast I’m about to have or tell them what songs I am listening to. How else will people know? There’s always Facebook. But that’s like saying “there’s always Myspace or Bebo”. I live in the present, not the past.
The thought occurs to me, is this only happening to me, or are others suffering the same fate? There’s no way I can find out. Not without Twitter. I click refresh. The red eyed monster is still staring me down, ever more sinister. Suddenly my browser springs to life. I have updates! I now know that Justin Bieber is still a trending topic for some reason and apparently it’s “Pi day”, whatever that means. I scroll down to the bottom of the page and click that “More” button, simple and unassuming. But something pops up at the top of my page, “Whoops, something went wrong. Please try again.” I try again, same result.
That alien robot is toying with me. I’ve just had a can of energy drink, but if I update my Twitter with this vital information, how can I know if my Tweet fans can access it? I can’t. I’m stuck. Like a mid sized deer caught in the headlights of a Toyota Prius. The irony, trying to save the world, but killing the little people instead with a stuck brakes pedal. I refresh the page again, only to be confronted with the red-eyed demon once again.
He looks into my eyes. I look into his eyes. We look into each other’s eyes. I know what he wants me to do. He wants me to pick up that little spoon I used to eat my strawberry yoghurt with, go next door and stab their little dog. Sure the dog is annoying and doesn’t stop barking, but I will not do it. If I give in to the Twitter Antichrist, only anarchy remains. I need to remain focussed so the digital trickster cannot deceive me.
I turn on my TV to check out the news. Surely a global meltdown in micro blogging communication would be breaking news. The terror alert will rise. People will run to the shops to panic buy coolant spray and aubergines. It will be chaos. But I cannot pick up any signal. All I get on any channel is static. Surely there’ll be Top Gear repeats on Dave? No, just static. Then something starts coming through.
Breaking the static, a figure starts to form on my screen. Before I can tell who or what it is, I notice the two red glowing orbs. The blood red eyes, piercing into my room. I knew the end would come some day, but not like this. I always imagined it would be David Cameron’s fault as he tries to overcompensate his banality, causing Armageddon. The image on my screen clears and reveals the monster in glorious high definition. I knew there was a reason I bought this TV, the image is crystal clear.
The Twitter Devil is broadcasting from what looks to be a volcano fortress and is now wearing a floral pattern shirt. I suddenly notice that I too am wearing that exact same mock-Hawaiian style shirt. The fiend on the screen opens what I assume is its mouth and starts to speak. But I cannot comprehend the noise. These aren’t words; it sounds more like a bird chirping incessantly. The chirping gets louder until I can’t bear it any more.
I open my eyes and I’m lying on my bed, the alarm chirping in the corner of my room. Sun shining in through the window. I scramble to my laptop and with my shaking hands I open up Twitter. I’m taken aback by what I see staring back at me. It’s the Twitter Fail Whale. I breathe a sigh of relief, safe in the knowledge that Twitter is functioning again and is merely over capacity. Just as I go to close my laptop I notice something. The Fail Whale’s eyes are gleaming red.
I turn on my TV and my fears are confirmed. Piers Morgan is staring back at me …