July 12th, 2065
I walked down the Japanese street. There they all were: people. What a mess. I'm almost buffeted along the street to my destination: fighting against the old man going to the massage therapist or the lady with shopping bags full of groceries. I just needed to get to the convention on time, and damn these people were making it harder to arrive. It didn't help that the metro had broken down. Of all the days: the one the great Sean Hershey was speaking to his dwindling fan base was the day that everything had to go wrong. At least the airport took kindly to my situation.
It almost wasn't worth it, I kept thinking as I finally reached the venue. My tiny, box-like theatre could barely seat 100. Remember the days when old Hershey was The talk of YouTube? Well get a new site like Dendegra: mixing video with writing (like that idea's so original), and all the old professionals can kiss that option of making a living good bye. I eye a young woman across the street: Cassandra Morse. Over twenty million subscribers and all she did was tell stories about old people. What a mess.
Oops, there she looked at me just there: my mistake. And now she's headed over to me, a shy smile on her face. "Hello," her voice is exactly like it is on her videos: sweet, timid, experienced, lovely.
"Ah, Cassandra Morse, what a pleasure it is to see you," I grasp her hand and give the best fake smile I can muster. Five minutes until my show, or what you could call a "show" starts. First it was authors, now it's the fucking YouTubers who are dying out. I look at my adversary.
"I'm just a huge fan, really you know some of the stuff in your videos really inspired me to start my account."
"Oh that's nice. Listen I really have to go, but why don't we meet in the restaurant in the hotel, I'm assuming you're staying at the Same one?"
"The Hyatt," Cassandra nods. "Where else?"
Fuck that, of course she has enough money from her stupid spiritual, religious gobbeldegook that she posts online. Any respectable videographer would know better than to post videos preaching love and mystical forces beyond our control. "Right, five?"
"I look forward to it. Maybe I can get some one-on-one advise?"
More like you want to give me advise on how YouTube is going to die in the next few years and how my dwindling fan base has migrated over to your channel and how to fix my crumbling empire? No thank you.
I scuttle in to an audience that's barely more than 50 people. My sponsors won't like this: even though nature box is blooming with business, they'll stop sporting me. What a mess. I smile.
"What would you say you owe your success to?"
"Success is relative," I spear a cutlet of pork. Probably shouldn't splurge like this, but goddamn I'm on vacation. When my funds run out and I'm living on dry Raman on the streets of Piccadilly and pleading for a sign of remorse that somehow my profession gets back into 'the groove' maybe I'd consider switching to Dendegra; or writing a book. What a joke. "Take any YouTuber and ask him what he owes success to and you'll get just as many answers."
"What about your success?" Damn she won't relent that question.
"I suppose it's having a likable personality and something unique to offer," I bullshit her not: my likeable personality drove millions to click that subscribe button; at least that's what Kyler told me. Jacksepticeye's personality captured millions. Even College Humor's crude videos were likeable and unique. If only they knew what I was really thinking.
"That's really cool," Cassandra slurps up some fancy noodles.
"Yeah I guess," there's nothing fun about scrounging around the internet begging for subscribers, spending more on advertising than you get from advertising. "But really, there's no telling when your subscribers will decide to ditch you."
"Maybe you just need to switch," Cassandra looks at me. She's a converter: probably getting paid by fucking Hugo Ross to say this. The man owns the internet ever since Dendegra.
"Like that'd do any good. I'd not know how to use that new tech," I lie. Dendegra's as friendly to use as an Apple product. Hell, Dendegra's easiest to use on the new Apple Watch, not that I'd know.
"Tell me about yourself, Cassandra," I turn the tables. "What do you owe your success to?"
"Oh I don't know," Cassandra swallows. "I guess I have a likeable personality or I'm doing something right. I just started because this friend told me that sharing some of my grandmother's stories might be fun. Then I posted my first video to YouTube. That was almost seven years ago when Dendegra was first starting. I was one of the first to actually start posting regularly and I guess being able to adapt to that was good."
Does she ever shut up? "How often do you post?"
"Oh, only about once a week," Cassandra laughs. So that's how it is: I post nearly twice daily and my views are still dwindling. Is the key really to post less? "I guess I can't post excessively. To be honest, I don't know how many more stories I have left. I've been trying to cut them with some vlogs and other talks about, you know, my religion, my daughter, some of my poetry and stories. I mean, the whole point of the channel was to tell my grandmother's stories. Maybe I should finish up and start a new."
"Why'd you choose your grandmother?" Reader, I truly am interested. For some reason there's this personality to Cassandra that I'm drawn to. I can see why the world actually likes this person who stole all my subscribers.
"Well…" she hesitated and tilted her head a bit, poking her noodle bowl. "When I was a child, I'd hang out at my grandmother's place a lot and she'd tell me stories and I'd listen and just be engulfed in her adventures. Her house always smelled wonderful: something was always baking. I guess I just felt… you know… safe."
"What about your parents?"
She perks up a bit, slightly surprised and hesitant. "Oh, I didn't really want to be there that much."
I doubt she's told many people this. I get out my vlog camera. "Mind if I?"
"Um… I'd prefer it if you didn't," Cassandra eyes the camera suspiciously so I put it away. She takes a bite of noodles and continues. "I had a traumatizing stepmother experience and I just didn't…"
"It's fine," I cut her off. I don't need a Schindler's List story; God knows I've already lived one.
"No, it's alright," she says. I guess she thinks I actually care about her. I won't put on a tough act, I do find some interest in her, but in this moment I'm more concerned about paying the bill on this delicious cutlet.
"I don't want to -," I imply.
"She physically abused me and I hated that a lot. I still have scars, can you believe? More emotional, but I'm working those out. There was something about making the videos that really helped me calm and… this sounds stupid I suppose to you, but it was sorta a therapy."
"That's," I want to say beautiful. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Cassandra looks off to the side. "It's over now and I'm much happier. Got a supporting husband and a daughter that's going to graduate in two years. What about you?"
"What?" I'm taken aback. I don't know what she asked me about. "Family? I mean… I used to have a brother, but you know how that went… they still haven't found him. Then my parents were assholes, so not much going on for me in terms of family."
"What about love? I've followed you on YouTube a lot and you haven't ever had a girlfriend or anything."
"Oh… love," I make a psh sound. "Love isn't for me. People are too false with me. I've lived most of my life with the screaming fangirls who just wanted to marry me because I was famous. I mean, fuck: look at me: I'm a handsome man. No one saw me for who I was. People just loved the feeling of love, not the person."
I cut another piece of pork and dip it into the peanut sauce. There's a small moment of silence and goddamn, there's actually some intelligence behind those mystical voodoo eyes of Cassandra. "I don't think that's true."
"Mmm?" I have my mouth full.
"I think you can love a person and love the feeling of being in love. I think love is the most powerful thing: it can help people become better and change, you know? I just think that loving a person for who they are is what love is. And changing yourself because you know you love them, and they love you."
A real hippie. Fine. I can't complain. She grew up in a hippie town. Her channel oozes love and weird, everything-is-connected shit like no other. "I don't think that's true. People want people to change so they can keep loving the person."
"I don't think true love requires that," Cassandra frowns a bit. Is she concerned people actually think like I do? "I think you need to experience true love before you can say anything on the matter."
My respect for Cassandra increased infinitely. She wasn't shy to criticize someone, even someone who she's followed on YouTube. Most girls would just want to nod their heads obediently and sigh with fake love for their idol.
"Love will garner you and make you feel something beautiful. There's only so much that can go around though. Eventually people run out and find love for someone else. There's a next thing or person they love, or that they love more than you. Love will bring people together, sure, but it will leave you in the ditch on the side of the road, laughing in your face as you die."
"Real love knows no boundaries. It recognizes that they are conventions and can be, and should be crossed. It's a respectable thing when it's real," Cassandra's response is automatic. She must have been thinking while I was talking. I do truly like this person. Is old Sean Hershey growing a soft heart after all? "It's white, and blank, the potential to change and reform through anything."
My watch lights up my skin, alerting me I have another convention to attend. Fuck that one though: doubt more than a few people will show up. "Cassandra Morse, it's been a pleasure, really. I must be off now."
"Oh that's fine, I have a convention in half an hour too. No rest for the weary, right?"
I start to tap a few buttons on my wrist to pay the bill.
"I'll cover it," Cassandra has out her wallet. A wallet: can you believe how old fashioned some people still are? "Really, I get sponsorships on YouTube."
My dignity's reputation on the line, I take care of the entire bill (28.46), even hers, and say, "I'm not that far gone. I'll see you sometime else."
"Well if you're sure," Cassandra puts her wallet back. I doubt she even knows I paid her bill. "Hey, if you want, I'd love to put together a few videos with you."
The view count to my videos just skyrocketed. I turned around, hearing the wonderful sound of money. A few videos with her could really perk my channel. "Why Cassandra, the pleasure would be all mine. I'll send you my phone number."
June 6th, 2066
Amazing how the internet works so fast: literally my channel couldn't be in a better place. I do owe everything to Cassandra, who brought the internet back to YouTube. All of the YouTubers can thank me for saving their channels too.
I walk down the streets of San Francisco: the gay community at the Castro theatre has gladly accepted a joint talk with Cassandra and I. I'm meeting her a day before the video convention starts. My vlog camera is on and I smile: "Top of the morning! I'm here in San Francisco the day before the big event. I had to travel even further than last year, which was fine by me. If you get a chance, fly British airways: they have the most comfy chairs and the food is delicious."
This is the first year since 9/11 planes started serving food again. After people realized that food bombs were a ridiculous notion and that terrorists were into cyber attacks more than blowing up the fucking capitol of the US, they started going easy on the whole security situation. I can't complain, really: the wonderful Asian food tasted better than the Trader Joe's frozen meal I stooped so low to eat last night.
"I'm walking over to see Cassandra Morse from Stories Of Old Love and talk about our show tomorrow which is going to be awesome. I hope I'll see some of you there."
I put the vlog camera down. A man approaches me. "Are you… Sean Hershey?"
"Yes," I pick out a pen from my jeans.
"Oh than goodness, I've been looking for you this whole week: had to follow you from Piccadilly," the man brought out a brown parcel. A stalker: great. There's nothing worse than a personal stalker.
"Well, today's your lucky day!" I say.
The man hands me the brown parcel. "Do you believe in fate?" the man asks.
"What's this?"
"It's sorta like a present," the man says. "But you can't open it until this beauty runs out of battery."
The man hands me a silver pocket watch. Dear God, I thought those were extinct, Apple hunted them down like they were Hutus in Rwanda in 1994. I take the delicate thing cautiously. "What?" I laugh nervously.
"You can't open the box until the watch runs out," the man repeated.
"Why? What'll happen?"
"I don't know," the man became frustrated. "But just don't open it ok? My family's had this since 1934 when some guy told my great great great grandfather to give it to a Sean Hershey in 2026. Ok? I know it's stupid but it was really important to my great great great grandfather."
"Who was he? Who are you?"
"Gregory," the man said. "Name's Gregory. My grandfather's name was Brendan. But there's something weird fate-wise going on and I don't know what's going to happen. But apparently it's important and you should keep it somewhere really, really safe. I'm just carrying out a dying father's wishes."
"Alright, well thank you," I say and smile. Gregory walks away.
What a weird thing. I throw the watch and box into my bag and continue walking. If it's a bomb, then it would have exploded by now. I'm not too concerned either. It's probably a new devise some guy tried to disguise as an "old relic."
Cassandra's already at the hotel. "Hey," she says. Something's off.
I wave and set my bag on the bed. "Crazy thing just happened to me," I said.
"Yeah?" Cassandra looked up from her screen.
"Man walked up and gave me a present," I sit down on the sofa.
"You should be careful about that, I once got a package of cocaine from an admirer," Cassandra said. "He claimed it would help me feel more in-tuned with the world."
"Well, I doubt it's cocaine," I said.
"Want to open it?" Cassandra asked.
"The man who gave it to me told me not to open it until a battery in a pocket watch ran out," I sigh. Lunatics will be crazy.
"A pocket watch?" Cassandra's in disbelief.
"Yeah," I say. "Right? I mean I thought those were extinct. Where's Holly?"
"She went to get some lunch," Cassandra dismisses my question. "That's antique now, if he gave you that, it might actually be important."
"Please," I roll my head to look at her like James Dean. "I love fiction as much as you, but that's only in the films."
"I'm just saying, it's really cool that someone gave you a time capsule," Cassandra walked over to my bag. "Sometimes everything is connected."
"Well maybe not this time."
"The watch is still going. Can you let me know what's in the package when the watch runs out?" Cassandra shakes the box tenderly.
"If you really want me to, I'll wait to open that box until the watch runs out of battery."
"Awesome," Cassandra sits back down. "Hope it's soon."
"What? Why?" I look at her.
"I want to know. Wonder what it is. I love mysteries: they're unique and fun. It's like life telling you that it's still powerful and beautiful," Cassandra puts the box back into my bag. "I know, you don't believe in that stuff."
"It could be real," I find myself saying. Truthfully, I've started believing in the more-mystic side of life. The love that can come with opening up and actually talking to someone. Maybe old fashioned wasn't so bad after all.
"Have you prepared your speech yet?" Cassandra asks. "I was thinking we could do a whole video montage to start, but I don't want to mess up anything you already have."
"Sure," honestly I hadn't really prepared anything as an opener. "Want me to do it?"
"Oh, would you mind?" Cassandra smiles. I keep forgetting Cassandra lives in the olden days: she's probably use Final Cut to download all her videos and edit them. I tap a few buttons on my Apple Watch and it starts creating a film collage, intro setting of course.
"That'll be ready in about half an hour. So we have our intro, what next?" I take out my binder and open up my tablet. "What were you planning?"
"Well, obviously, we say thank you," Cassandra says. She's not looking at anything, which makes me somewhat nervous. "And then I was thinking about telling our story. You know, like how long it's been: a year. Howe we met in Japan and how our channels thrived."
"Won't that give away the secret to our competitors?" I asked.
"Well, we're all needing to make a living."
"Do you not know how the free market works?"
"No, but you know… I just… everyone needs to eat and there are a lot of people on Dendegra."
"We have the largest venue and the largest audience, I think we can be a bit elitist."
She walks over to the window and looks out. "Perhaps, but we do owe a lot of the success to the fans and to our combined channels. I mean, YouTube practically showered us with money after the first month. Maybe it's time we stop making videos, you know… retire."
That notion struck me across the head: quit? It couldn't possibly be that she was getting tired of making videos. I stop to think about that: What would life be like if I stopped making videos? What would I do?
"Are you still with me?" Cassandra asks.
"Why quit now?" I ask. Now that I think about it, she was a bit nervous before she dropped the bomb, now she's really nervous. "We've built this empire and it's been going so well for the past year."
"Look, I know that YouTube and videos mean a lot to you, but I don't see how I can keep this up as a living. We're both millionaires now, and Darren has really been supportive, at least when he's here. We can still make like, an anniversary video or something, but I just don't think that Dendegra is going to keep working out for me."
"Shouldn't we keep this going for as long as possible? Give the fans what they want? You've been making people happy," I get up and walk over to her. "That's what you wanted right? I know this started more as a therapy, but… I don't know."
"Exactly, it was a therapy for me, and now that I'm better, I don't need it anymore. Besides, you and I have had a great run, isn't it time to let someone else take over? Keep it new and fresh? And think about this: if you go out now, fans will remember you for being amazing, rather than being boring at the end. Nothing lasts forever, better end it before your fans do," Cassandra's really thought this out.
"I see what you're getting at, but… this is our legacy… these channels, or… whatever you call them on Dendegra…" my Apple Watch beeps at me to notify the collage is done. I ignore it for a while.
"Sean, if you want to keep going, I don't blame you or anything. But I think it's time I step out of the light," Cassandra looks at me, a tear rolls down her eye.
I look into her eyes, and she expresses something to me. Your old Hershey couldn't tell you how it happened, but take a spiritual moment with your God and make it human. "How much longer?"
"I don't think they've given me more than a year," she says. "They said that it was like someone had ripped open my insides and spattered paint all over."
"Cassandra… I'm so," I don't know how to talk. The air is heavy white, crushing with the sounds of cars and electronic signals, the people.
"It's fine, really," she looks away, not sad and in denial, but with an air of confidence and triumph. "We aren't built to keep going on forever."
"What can I do?"
"Just keep on going," she looks back at me. "There's nothing I can do, nothing you can do. It's terminal, Sean."
I go and hug her, feel our hearts beat together in a moment of connection. It's not an erotic hug, if you can believe such a thing exists.
June 7th, 2066
I lay in bed thinking last night: how unfair life was. Why things kept happening to me. I thought about Cassandra and how she was going to die in a year, and how her presence would no longer be anywhere except in the cloud: in old videos, moments in time that you could revisit and laugh or cry with. Virtual life had those moments; real life had none of those luxuries: you could have a memory or a feeling, but heaven forbid you try to go back and relive those moments of pure joy, or sadness, pain, or hope. Maybe that's what heaven was: those tiny moments in life that you'd want to live in for the rest of your life. You keep living in those moments, but then you find yourself living in all of the other moments because everyone else has their moments they want to relive in heaven so you have to be in that moment so the world can be exactly how it was when people you didn't know experienced a joyful moment. Our lives would just be a reflection of our lives, a half-life. And then when our memories died, we'd go relive the moments in another place, and that half-life that was already a half-life would become a quarter-life, because half-lives would keep going on after your half-life died, so you'd need to find another place to start another half-life, which would drag other people with you: time would start to look like a stair step. Looks like this half-life has already expended the time with Cassandra Morse.
I press a few buttons on my watch and up goes the intro. Virtual Cassandra smiles and says "Hello Interwebs! Today's a very special day!" And there's Virtual me, "Hershey here with a sweet new video for y'all! What's up Internet!?" So then there's a minute-long montage of some of our most-liked videos. It's amazing that the audience has that much of an attention span. And there's my queue: I walk out onto a stage in front of an audience over 1400 people; standing room only. Last year was 100, with many seats unclaimed. This year: it's fame up the wazoo, the proper treatment for an old veteran like me.
"What's up internet!?" I yell into the mic: the crowd goes wild. "I'm the Hershey, here with the one and only: Cassandra Morse!"
The crowd is a mad stampede of war decibels, walking into my ear, as Cassandra walks out onto stage and smiles. I smile my largest smile, and motion for the audience to calm down. "Now, I know you want to have fun, and I want to be all the positive energy right now, but Cassandra and I have some news to break to you. Cassandra?"
There's muttering in the crowd, concerned faces will get what concerned faces dread the most: termination. Cassandra lifts her microphone to her mouth: "This year has been a wonderful year for both of us, and of course, you all who have helped our channels grow to new heights and really challenge what can be done on the interwebs. I remember when I got married to Darren, my family was so intent on me keeping my maiden name, Raluge. But as you all know, things don't last forever, and I wound up accepting Darren's last name. Well, I'm here to tell you that new things come up all the time, and you can't keep things going for eternity. That in mind, I'm sad to announce that both Sean and I will be retiring our channels this upcoming month."
The crowd's response is to immediately boo, rustle, and give a few sparse 'what?' phrases. I look at Cassandra and she looks at me. We're both heartbroken to do this to our fans, and it will be worse tomorrow when the word gets out and we're in front of an audience even larger than this Castro Theatre crowd. My eyes tear up and I choke out a "We thank you all for your support over the past 10, 18 years for me. But we feel this is the necessary step to take. We'll still be here, but we just won't be doing vlogs and stuff."
I think back to what my brother would tell me right now if he were here: stand up, be a man. I smile, when I think of Kyler, and yell into the mic: "Thank you so much! We love you all!"
And then Cassandra and I walk to center stage, amidst the mixed reactions, bow, and leave the stage.
June 2, 2068
"You're homework this week is to watch Frank Capra's It Happened One Night," I stand at the podium. A crowd of 2,000 students stares back. "Analyze the different shots and setups Capra uses and how he uses those to develop the tone of his film. I want a 1,000-word paper describing one or two scenes."
The class rustles and soon, they're gone and I'm packing. Take a look at me now: someone who I thought I'd never be. I pack up two chips, my earpiece, and the projection pen before heading out to my office. No one talks to me after class, it's so rare to get a student who actually wants to be a film director. It's hard to think that nowadays film is becoming less of an art form and more of an advertisement tool. Even feature-length films are more advertisement than they are ideas, story, themes, characters…
I should Skype Cassandra, I haven't talked to her in a full month and it's got to be the worst. She's managed to shave another year off, barely. Some days, I believe she'd be better off dead than suffering and in pain. It's a relief to at least know that Holly's an adult and taking care of herself, and who can also take care of her mother, rather than a child who'd go into an orphanage. Darren was called to report in China, and his luck ran out. So it goes, I tell myself constantly.
I look at the place, listening to the silence that fills the room: something's missing. Something's off. I can feel it, hear it… smell it. Everything looks to be in order: nothing has been touched or disturbed. My theft probe would have told me that. I look behind me: a stack of old iPads next to a Macbook and a Lenovo notebook from 2020. There's the brown package with the watch, my class books, a collection of dvds for class. Wait… there it is: the watch. The watch stopped.
I pick it up and examine the elegant thing: it's defiantly stopped its movement. This means I get to open the box. I pick it up and examine the decrepit packaging. Something like this should be opened with care: I get a pair of scissors and cut the string.
It's a wooden box: with a lock on it. How'd a lock get on a what was it? 1939? Locks had definitely not been created back then, had they? I examined the 4-digit combination lock and thought to cut it with some wire cutters. On the side of the box, there was a message saying: the price of food when you first met C.R. That must be the password, right? But CR?
I sat back for a moment and stared at the wooden box, notice it's made of Cherry. A finely-polished cherry. CR could stand for Cassandra before she married. I tell my Apple Watch to look up how much I spent on food on the 12th of July back in 2025. It's insane how much time has passed. 28.46. Ok, 2846. I spin the wheels around and hear a small click. The box opens with ease and inside it is…
Shit… I have to tell Cassandra.
"Thank you for your help, Mr. Hershey," a woman stands at the doorway. "You've managed to open the box. Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
I look up, very startled. "What? Who are you?"
"My name doesn't matter," she says. "I just need the contents of that box."
"I was told that I needed to keep this safe," I say cautiously. Woman probably thinks me seriously dumb.
"Let me put it this way," the girl pulls a gun. I raise my hands and back up. "I work for a specialized branch that needs what you have. And I'm terribly sorry to do this to you, but…"
"Wait wait, we can… just… take it…" I'm too late. She shoots me once in the chest, once in the shoulder. The third bullet misses.
"I have no understanding how an ordinary man came to do such an important thing," the woman says. She's walking forward. "But somehow you did it."
I can't breathe, the pain is forcing my vision to darken.
The woman picks up the box before WSH shink! She drops the box and falls to the floor. Another man stands with a knife. He smiles at me. "Shoulda known there would be Syndicate scum here." There's another wooshing sound and the man's next to me. I'm hallucinating now.
"Ok Mr. Hershey," the man smiles and presses my hand against my wound. "You're going to be just fine. Now breathe with me. In, and out."
Holly! I think. I need to tell Holly! Wait… Holly… Cassandra. She's been waiting and I need to tell her. I start to stand up. "Whoa there! Just take it easy there. Now I know your name, but you probably don't know mine. Name's Carl, and I'm here to tell you that what you've just
done is one of the most essential actions to the Sphinx Corps's cause. It was brave and noble and we commend you for that. Stay with me, breathe in and out… In and out.
I can't breathe now. Everything is fading into darkness and white. It's hard to breathe. I'm vaguely aware of another man coming in and picking up the box. "Mr. Hershey, keep with me, there's an ambulance on its way so you're going to be just fine.
Tell Cassandra… Tell Cassandra… I think.
My life is seen fading away, my eyes close. I'm going to die I think… And then...