Click.

Click.

Click.

Bored brown eyes stared ahead, blinking with thick effort. Three separate sources of light unveiled a rugged face in the dark. Messy black hair, dark circles, an olive complexion, headphones, and no hope.

“Flank from the left? Okay, I'll cover.”

Click.

Click.

Click.

He played Underwatch, an FPS game revolving around heroes and villains. He played Renji, a red ninja warrior that tossed kunai knives as his primary means of attack. It was a meaningless effort as his team was losing and losing badly. The flank strategy was a last ditch effort from him and one other teammate.

His eyes flickered to the left monitor. The chat box remained hauntingly empty, devoid of any response. He didn't have the heart to clutch it out. He died without realizing it. The match was over.

DEFEAT. 

He rubbed his tired eyes. He checked the view count, noticed three people were watching and forced a smile.

“Well, guys, it looks like we'll be ending today with a losing streak. Sucks but what can you do?” He injected enthusiasm into his voice. “Thanks for joining me, even if it's just in spirit! Don't forget to like and follow, and I'll catch you in the next stream!”

Just like that, he ended the seven hour stream.

On his main monitor, he clicked off the game, his smile faltering and his shoulders slumping. The room seemed quieter without the constant hum of the game and his voice streaming into the void. He rolled back on the chair, arms dangling and face staring into the ceiling. Nothing but darkness greeted him, swirling and hurting his head. He took off his headset, stretched, and glanced at the darkened room around him, contemplating the quiet emptiness. With a deep sigh, he turned off the monitor and headed to bed, hoping for a better turnout next time.

Arm across his forehead, “Next time,” he muttered.

Owen Hart.

Achieving greatness. Going through youth. Defying authority. He had gone through all that and so much more. But after the best years of his life had gone, after the main story of his life came to a close, he didn’t know what to do. He was aimless and now the hours upon hours of time he poured into streaming was suffocating him. He thought about closing his eyes and moving onto the next day. It was the best way to ignore the heavy weight in his heart.

However, he got up and approached his room door. Taking a breath, he opened it and went outside, the open lit-up bathroom in his face. He sighed, took two steps forward, and turned off the lights. “Probably Isabella,” he muttered. Coming back out, he walked through the hall and entered the living room. A television sat aglow, brightening up the couch paralleling it. His gaze settled on the body lying on the sofa and his lips tugged upwards.

Isabella snored as if she was humming. A thin girl with freckles and short brown hair, her head resting on the arm rest, she was too deep in the dream world to notice him or the Youtube video she had left on.

Quietly, Owen picked up the controller in her hand and shut off the console, thereby turning off the television screen. He tip-toed to the kitchen, which was behind the TV. If Isabella opened her eyes, she would see him stealing a can of ginger ale, her favourite. 

Before he went to his room, he draped her in a red tiger-patterned blanket. It was the early fall season and in the Bay temperatures often skirted winter levels of cold. A can of ginger ale in hand, he went back to his room and made sure to fully close it before opening the can.

Pssssch! Pop!

Following the faint hissing noise, he sat on his leather chair and promptly sipped on his drink. ‘Still slightly too carbonated,’ he joked. He wasn’t a ginger ale or Mountain Pew addict like Isabella was but he did enjoy it every now and then.

A little spicy but overall sweet and citrus-y, a blend mellow enough to stand out from the thick aftertaste of its bigger competitors. He put the can down next to his keyboard and stretched his arms high in the air.

“Might as well start editing,” Owen said to himself. Day after day, he received no attention. Day after day, his confidence in his skills plummeted. 

He began typing. In his mind, it didn't matter. He had to keep going. He had to become a streamer. It was the dream bestowed to him.

He opened up his WuTube channel, with the tab to his Glitch streaming account next to it. Streaming daily on Glitch was strenuous and draining. Doing the editing to post on WuTube was more technical and time-consuming. So far, he had a hundred videos posted, most of which had about ten or twenty views. He deleted the VODs on Glitch since otherwise there would be no point in posting them to WuTube.

Fist to his cheek, mousing moving across the screen, he did what he needed to in terms of editing. Sound affects, well-placed memes, that sort of thing. He wasn’t an expert by any means. His experience and knowledge came from the internet, which meant he based his videos on large gaming channels in the same vein as his channel. He tried to be funny and imitate viral clips. He never went too steep on clickbait.

His eyelids drooped and he yawned quietly. He was halfway down. Ten or twenty minutes left depending on the pace.

‘It's not like anyone is going to watch anyone.’ The negative thoughts creeped in and he couldn’t stop them. ‘I should just sleep.’

Yeah, sleep. Give up. Ruin this schedule you've been following for years now. Discard this pathetic dream of yours.

His eyes closed for a second too long and he jolted himself awake. 

“C'mon, just finish it. Think about it, you'll be free in the morning.”

Until he did it all over again.

He cut the video slightly short and avoided the typical marks of high quality. His sleepiness was impossible to fight off. He worked and worked and worked till he was finished and his eyes closed on their own.

Owen didn't know he was asleep till he woke up.

“Mmm…” When his consciousness resurfaced, there was a red blanket draped on him. A smile spread across his face and he pulled the blanket over his nose.