I did not hurt them

Look, we have all fallen into the trap of doom-scrolling. Sometimes for minutes. Sometimes for hours. As a species, we have reached a point where every ounce of our day can be consumed by the small computer we keep in our pockets. I am no different than anyone else. I have succumbed to it more times than I can count.

But there is something evil within these apps.

I do not know what it is or how it works. Maybe it is a demon designated to me alone. Maybe it is an AI. Who knows anymore? All I know is that the other night, after a long day of work, I was lying in bed trying to unwind and scroll through reels.

Everything was normal at first. Car accidents. Shitposts. Memes.

Then, as I drifted deeper into the feed, I saw a video that made my stomach drop.

It was me.

I was sitting at the dinner table with my brother and parents. The table was set beautifully. My mother had cooked what looked like meatloaf, a meal she had never made before.

The video ran for ten straight minutes. No cuts. No dialogue. Just the four of us eating in silence.

When the plates were cleared and we began to stand, the video restarted.

I bolted out of bed and rushed to my parents’ room to show them. By the time I got there, my feed had refreshed.

How do you explain that to someone?

“Hey, I just saw us eating dinner on Instagram. That’s probably something to look out for.”

It sounded insane.

But I remembered the username.

I searched user.44603380.

Only one account appeared.

When I opened it, there were no posts. Just a blank page. Zero followers. Zero following. Everything about it looked grey and new.

Everything except the profile picture.

It was me.

A photo I had never taken. My face hollow. My eyes empty. Still human, but barely.

This was proof.

I showed my parents again. They laughed it off. Said it had to be one of my friends messing with me. I do not know why I expected them to understand. They are parents. Social media is foreign to them.

I reported the account for impersonation.

By morning, it was gone.

I went to work relieved, warmth in my chest.

That night, I repeated the routine. Shoes off. Bed. Scroll.

This time, a quarter of my feed was me.

Not really me. Versions of me. Walking a dog I never owned. Sitting in a library I had never visited. Every clip filmed from strange angles, like whoever was recording me was hiding.

I reported every account I found.

There were around thirty.

Each one disappeared.

I put my phone in a drawer and went outside. I did not touch it again until the next morning.

A notification filled the screen.

My account had been taken down for “pretending to be someone else.”

I appealed and went to work shaken. When I got home, the appeal had been denied. I would have to wait thirty days.

I made a new account.

It did not take long to find myself again.

Buying coffee. Getting gas. Talking to people I had never met.

Soon, my entire feed was nothing but me.

Too many accounts to report.

Then the videos changed.

I was no longer doing mundane things.

I was walking.

Every video showed me moving down the same stretch of road. A road I recognized. The one just before my neighborhood.

Then my street.

Then my driveway.

Then my front porch.

And then, as if nothing had happened, my feed returned to normal. Puppies. Nature clips. Advertisements.

Every account was gone.

Every video vanished.

I felt like I was losing my mind.

I threw my phone aside and stared at the ceiling until thought blurred into sleep.

When I woke up, I followed my routine. I got dressed. I made my bed. I checked my phone.

Hundreds of videos filled the screen.

Each one had thousands of views.

Each one showed me murdering my parents.

I exploded out of my room.

The walls were coated in blood. So much that they looked like they were leaking. The smell of iron filled the house.

My parents lay sprawled across their bed. Their torsos were riddled with stab wounds.

Sirens screamed through my phone.

On the screen, I saw myself standing over them. Phone raised. My face twisted in confusion, desperation, and terror.

Red and blue light flooded the room.

The front door shattered.

SWAT rushed in.

They pinned me to the floor. My phone skidded across the room and came to rest against the wall.

The last thing I saw on the feed was myself being handcuffed.

Then it refreshed.

Kittens. Baking recipes.

I was charged.

My lawyer insisted I plead insanity.

I am writing this from a holding cell.

Please believe me.

I did not cause this.

I did not hurt them.