In the quiet, dimly-lit corners of a notorious online forum, where frustration brewed and self-pity festered, two names
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Elle — 1 year ago(November 05, 2024 03:51 AM)
TaraDes had been online for as long as she could remember. Back in the early days of the internet, when forums were just starting to flourish, she’d made a name for herself. At first, it was because of her sharp wit and no-nonsense attitude, but over time, it was something darker that came to define her presence. In her small apartment in Frankfurt, with the scent of stale coffee in the air, she spent most of her days scouring message boards, her fingers dancing over the keys with the fury of someone searching for a fight.
No one knew how old TaraDes was, though some suspected her to be in her sixties or seventies. She never revealed much about herself beyond her self-imposed moniker. Her avatar—a stern-looking older woman with thick glasses and a frown permanently etched into her face—was as much a symbol of her character as her words were.
TaraDes was the queen of the boards, or at least, she liked to think so. She had a reputation that preceded her, and newcomers often feared posting when she was around. She was a constant presence, lurking in the shadows of every heated debate, watching for any opportunity to pounce.
“Liars!” she’d bark, when a user dared to share an opinion she didn’t agree with. “Filthy socks!” she’d call anyone she suspected of creating fake accounts. Her words were like blunt weapons, slicing through conversations, leaving bruises on anyone who dared to challenge her.
A “sock” was what she called people she believed to be using multiple identities to manipulate conversations. Of course, she was notorious for seeing socks everywhere, and it didn’t take much to earn her suspicion. If you posted too much, or if your opinions shifted too dramatically, you could bet that TaraDes would be there, accusing you of being someone else in disguise.
“Tell me why your story changes every time,” she once sneered at a user named Elle. “You’re either a liar or a sock puppet. Pick one.”
She would chase them from thread to thread, making their lives miserable. It was rare for someone to argue back effectively; the terror of being relentlessly targeted by TaraDes was enough to make most people shrink back into silence. The regulars of the forums had learned to ignore her, or worse, to bend to her whims in order to avoid the verbal barrage that awaited those who became her prey.
But one day, something changed.
A new user joined the board. His name was Juan Kerr, and he was calm, collected, and unusually kind in his posts. He didn’t rise to her provocations or try to defend himself when she called him a liar and a sock. Instead, he kept replying with a single phrase: “We all have a story.”
TaraDes didn’t like that. Stories were her territory. She was the one who dictated who could and couldn’t share their truth. So, she went after Juan with all the ferocity she had left in her. But no matter what she said, no matter how many insults she hurled, Juan simply responded with that same phrase: “We all have a story.”
Days passed, and TaraDes grew more agitated. She’d escalate, posting long, rambling messages about how everyone was out to get her, how they were all “fake” in one way or another. She berated the forum moderators, accusing them of secretly plotting against her, all while Juan remained unshaken, responding with his steady refrain.
One evening, after a particularly long rant from TaraDes accusing everyone on the board of being in on some vast conspiracy against her, Juan wrote something new:
“I know you’re hurt, TaraDes. I know you’ve been here longer than most of us, and you’ve seen a lot of people come and go. Maybe you’re scared that all of us are just passing through while you’ve been here all along. But your story doesn’t have to be one of chasing others. You can stop now. It’s okay to just listen.”
The silence that followed was heavy. The other members of the forum waited, some on edge, wondering if TaraDes would lash out once more. But after a long while, she didn’t reply. TaraDes simply… disappeared.
The forum continued, but it was different. There was no longer the constant threat of her accusations, no longer the shadow of her relentless pursuit of “liars” and “socks.” TaraDes had vanished, her harsh voice fading into the ether.
Some believed that Juan’s words had somehow reached her, that the old woman who had built her identity on tearing others down had finally been confronted with a truth she couldn’t deny—that her story, for all its sharp edges, had a softer side she hadn’t yet shared with anyone.
And so, the forum moved on, but there was an unspoken respect for Juan. Some even whispered that maybe TaraDes had left to finally find peace.
But no one could say for sure.
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