[ WP ] A redditor grows increasingly depressed because no one replies to his WritingPrompts . Then one day ... .

He tapped the button anxiously. All he wanted was a story. Something to pass the time. Hell, even an acknowledgement that he was alive. `` Reply,'' he whispered to the gods. `` Someone reply. 
 
 F5. 
 
 Still nothing. 
 
 Frustrated, he leapt up and stalked into the kitchen. He stood for a moment, staring into the fridge. There was nothing to eat. 
 
 How could life get any worse? He sighed and decided on a sandwich. Of course they were out of everything for that too. Bread and bologna it was, then. On his way out of the room, he grabbed a bag of Doritos. 
 
 Back to the computer. Refresh. Refresh. Then he froze. An orange envelope stood out in the corner of his screen. He'd gotten a reply to his latest, extremely meta writing prompt. 
 
 *Do n't get your hopes up, * he told himself. *Probably just another smartass. * 
 
 Fingers trembling, he clicked the envelope. `` Write about a Redditor'', he'd said. 
 
 `` Holy shit,'' he said now. `` It's actually a story. 
 
 Bologna and Doritos forgotten, he began to read. 
 
 It was a strange story, about a guy browsing the internet, going about the mundane tasks of his life. 
 
 *Something drew Billy's gaze to the window, * he read. *There was nothing there, of course. Not that he could see much. It was getting late - or early - and it was pretty dark outside. A glance at the clock warned that he should have been sleeping a long time ago. * 
 
 He pulled back, feeling a chill for no real reason at all. It was n't that late here - it was n't like the writer could read his mind. He forced a chuckle, and tried to shrug off the vague sense of unease that had worked its way under his skin. 
 
 The story got progressively stranger, and soon he was casting glances over his shoulder at the silent, empty room around him. He was n't sure why. The story itself was n't that scary. 
 
 Then there was a scene where the boy in the story grew hungry and went to make a sandwich. 
 
 *'' There's no meat in this house!'' he complained. `` I guess it's PB & J again. `` * 
 
 He pulled back. `` Do n't freak out,'' he muttered to himself. `` You're eating bologna, not peanut butter.'' 
 
 He pulled the sandwich along the desk on its napkin. As if it could sheild him from the tingling sensation along his spine. 
 
 He continued reading. 
 
 *The window slid open as Billy took another sticky bite. Busy tapping away at his keyboard, he did n't hear the soft shushing it made in the frame. * 
 
 *Soon, though, he needed to stretch, and as he did, he slowly spun in his chair, lazily surveying his apartment. * 
 
 The word `` apartment'' was half hidden at the bottom of the screen. Quickly, he scrolled down to read the rest. 
 
 There was nothing there. 
 
 Disappointed, he hovered over the upvote button. You had to upvote your first genuine reply, right? 
 
 But really, the story sucked. He was n't satisfied. He clicked the downvote button, deriving an odd pleasure from the act. 
 
 Refresh. No new replies. 
 
 He tossed the sandwich and tried to convince himself to go to bed. He'd almost succeeded when the phone rang. 
 
 `` I saw that, Billy,'' a ragged voice said. 
 
 `` Sorry,'' he said. `` You have the wrong number.'' 
 
 `` No.'' 
 
 He rolled his eyes. `` My name is n't Billy,'' he tried again. `` There's no Billy here.'' 
 
 The man on the phone cackled. `` It is,'' he said. `` Course it is. Billy Bologna's your name.'' 
 
 He opened his mouth, trying to formulate a reply. 
 
 `` You should n't have done that, Billy,'' the voice said. `` You should n't have done that.'' 
 
 The call disconnected. 
 
 Really worried now, he turned to look over his shoulder. His eyes reached the window. He screamed.
