When they found him, his fingers were still roving over the phone’s keypad, all the buttons long worn down to blank plastic nubs. Though he was already well into the process of decomposition, some kind of post-mortem reflex action kept him poking at his Android furiously.
Slumped against peeling floral print, he was little more than a skeleton with a thin, almost translucent layer of grayish skin stretched over top of it. Imagine a jellyfish swallowing an anatomy model twice its size.
The blinds were closed, but a few dusty blades of light penetrated the reeking darkness and that was enough to understand the kind of animal condition he’d been wallowing in in the weeks leading up to his death.
Stacked on every counter top and table were heaping bowls of rotten food. There were socks soaking in puddles of unidentifiable slime and T-shirts so stiff with filth, they could have been discarded plaster casts.
Everything was dripping and greasy to the touch, as if the entire place had been submerged under scummy pond water for a long time. At some point, even using the toilet had become too sophisticated a task for him, so he’d just started lazily dropping turds on the carpet like a grazing cow as he shuffled around that foggy swamp of a room, his wasted face always lit up pale blue from below.
When they found him, three veteran cops fainted. Another became impotent.
At first, he would tweet once a week or so, making cutesy observational jokes about toaster ovens or ugly dogs or whatever. A year and a half later, he was tweeting thirty, forty times a day, broadcasting all manner of personal minutia to the world.
Everything from pictures of unremarkable lunches he was having to musings on his current round of gastric trouble to monosyllabic declarations of boredom.
Debris blasted into the Twittersphere.
After a series of tweets about walking (“Left foot,” “Right foot,” “Left foot again”) and blinking (“Closed both my eyes for half a second”), it got so that he was tweeting compulsively about the act of tweeting itself. Eventually, his feed was just the word “tweet” repeated over and over again.
Modern archaeologists are of the opinion that cats used to have a thriving society before they created a microblogging website called Meow.
He’d had been dead for three days and he was still tweeting when they found him. :-(
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