The Terminal Tweet

Fiction: A short story about extreme social media addiction that only death cures

Ted put down his phone and watched another drop of blessed morphine drip into the chamber just above his IV tube.  Another shot of pain relief on the way, thank goodness.  

Ted sighed.  He was so tired after enduring hospice for three months now.  Surely he didn’t have much time left, did he?  His family was visiting today, and, as always, he reminded himself that this might be the last time he had to spend time with them.  So, Ted reached inside himself, tapped what little strength he had and smiled at his family. 

“Does it hurt?,” Lila, his little granddaughter asked. 

Ted lived in pain, dulled pain due to the morphine, but pain nonetheless.  But he didn’t want to scare her so he simply replied, “Not really.  Hey, Lila, get up here, let's take a photo for my Instagram and Twitter accounts!”

Ted realized, even though he wouldn’t be around much longer, it was still important to update his social media accounts, especially Twitter.  He had built an audience, after all, he had fans.  Those people looked up to him.  He had spent years building a following, and this was his life’s work, his legacy.  They wanted to hear from him until the very end.

“Hold still.”  His daughter, Linda, said as they posed for the photo.  Ted smiled. 

 “Here you go dad,” she handed him the phone.  

Ted reviewed the photo.  Excellent, this would work great for Instagram, his fans loved photos of him with his grandkids. He would get a lot of likes for this one. Even better, he could also use this in the Twitter thread he was working on.

The Twitter thread.

Lila started to cry.  “I don’t want you to die, gramps.”

“I know, honey, '' Ted said soothingly, while gesturing to Linda to get another shot.  He hoped she would understand he wanted to video this moment. Video got great engagement.

“But it’s OK, Lila, I’m ready.  I’ve had a good life, I've consumed a lot of great content. Just before y’all visited today, I was doom scrolling on Twitter and learned a lot from some great threads.   Haha, I’m doomed so I’m  doom scrolling, get it?  Lmao. Linda, can you write that down for me?  I can tweet that later.  I’ll schedule it for tonight.  Jokes seem to work better when I Tweet them between 9 and 10pm.”

“Uh, OK Dad” 

“Anyway”, Ted continued, ”I was doom scrolling on Twitter and so I re-consumed my favorite Twitter thread. It’s called ‘Ten amazing steps that will help you enjoy your time in hospice!’ and guess what, step one was “Reconnect with family!”. And here we are doing just that!  I’m so glad I read that thread and learned to appreciate this special time with you guys.”

“By the way, after I pass, would you guys visit @betterdeath666 on Twitter and retweet his pinned tweet? He’s the author of that thread, and he’s really helped me out.  He’s added a lot of value to my life. He deserves a much bigger audience than he currently has. Few understand this.”

His children glanced at one another, but just said, “OK, sure.  We’ll take care of it.”

Ted knew his children didn’t understand why he was so focused on Twitter.  They just didn’t understand.  Twitter was his life’s work.  It was his legacy.  But they would understand.  He had a huge surprise planned for them.  They would, after he was gone, of course, learn to look at his work on his Twitter account with reverence.  He would finally get the respect he deserved for the time and effort he spent there, building an audience.

Ted looked back over the last 15 years of his life with pride.  He had been bored as an accountant, but then he discovered Twitter, and now he was a content creator and had built his account from nothing to a devoted following of 107,356 fans.  

He had created, had written 94,132 Tweets (so far!).  Sure, some people denigrated Twitter.  They didn’t think he was a “real” writer (whatever that means, lmao he thought), but what’s a “real” writer anyway? 

94,132 Tweets represented around a million words.  Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five was only 49,459 words.  Ted chuckled.  He had created far more valuable content than Kurt Vonnegut.  And more valuable content means more value.  (Although, Ted allows, Vonnegut died before the Twitter age started in earnest, so perhaps Vonnegut could have achieved more if he had been given a chance to utilized and understand Twitter).  

A legacy of Tweets was just as important, if not more important, than a legacy of fiction books!  He would be leaving his kids a legacy, an audience, and even the ability to look back in time over his thoughts about a myriad of topics of the day!  Books are the past, Ted  thought.  Twitter is the present and the future.  

Ted nodded, steeling his resolve.  I’m doing the right thing, he thought.

“Dad?” his son’s voice snapped him back to the present.

“It’s OK son, I was just thinking.”

“Now listen kids, retweet that pinned tweet I mentioned.  And just log in to my account every now and then and engage with people I follow.  It’s important that Twitter not shut it down when I’m gone. I’ve left the login details in a note on my phone here.”

“Why is that so important, Dad?”

“It’s a surprise, but it’s important, I will leave instructions explaining everything. Promise me!”

“OK, we promise.”

The family stayed for a while longer, they all chatted while Ted checked his notifications again.  He nodded along while they all talked and even managed to get a few more great photos he could post later.  It was hard to read while the family was there but he was able to surreptitiously consume some Instagram content as well.  It was important to keep up.

***

After they left, Ted thought over his plans.  

Twitter threads were hot, and people left and right were going viral writing threads about mundane topics such  as summarizing Wikipedia articles or, god forbid, yet another thread on Atomic Habits.  Atomic Habits!  He chuckled.  Oh, it was a great book, and he recommended it to all aspiring content creators.  And, he had, of course, written a thread of life changing books, and had included Atomic Habits.  But Atomic Habits was so yesterday.  It had jumped the shark.  He needed to do something big for his thread.

And the idea he had was the mother of all threads.  It was a thread that would be captivating, engaging.  It would provide value.  Both for his followers and his children.

Best of all, nobody would be able to copy his thread…..unless they were willing, like him, to die for it.

Since he had been in hospice for so long, Ted had used the opportunity to think about how he would end his Twitter account.  His last tweet was obviously hugely important.  It was the last thing he would ever say online.

At first he had considered a meme.  His top contender was an animated gif from Looney Tunes.  “That’s all folks!” with porky Pig for all eternity proclaiming his last tweet.  lmfao. Memes were good, but it felt a little too casual, a little too pedestrian for his last Tweet.  Plus, he had been overwhelmed by the staggering volume of memes to choose from.  Memes were better for replies anyway.

Then, he had considered a great photo of his final moment.  In fact, he had even worked with his nurses to stage a photo of what his final moment would actually look like!  Ted felt a little bad about staging it that way, it felt fake to him.  He normally prided himself on his authenticity, which was one valuable attribute, along with his authority, that had helped him build an audience larger than 100,000.  Still, it was possible they wouldn’t have time, or opportunity to actually snap the photo right as he died.  And even if they had time, what if something went wrong?  There certainly wouldn’t be a second chance on that shot!  So he had staged the photo as a backup plan.

Then he had considered a video message.  Videos are engaging and it could also be used on TikTok.  In fact, he had a video message, but only as a part of the final plan.  He was excited just thinking about the thread, too bad he wouldn’t be able to see how viral it went!

Ted leaned back and considered his masterpiece.  The capstone of his life’s work.  He called it:  The Terminal Tweet

Once he decided that he would end with a thread, it all fell into place for him mentally.  Now, everyone knows that the first Tweet in a Twitter thread is the most important.  It has to hook people, and it is the Tweet that is usually retweeted.  And what he had in mind could only be replicated by someone willing to die for it.

Ted pulled up his Tweet scheduling app and reviewed his draft of the first Tweet:

He sat back smugly satisfied.  This would work, he nodded.  It had to!

He had the whole thread ready to go, and had instructions for his nurse to immediately hit publish when he expired.  He even had the staged death photo in the appropriate place in the thread.

This was going to be epic!

Even if his plan stopped there, it would have been epic, but what he had in mind next was truly mind blowing.

The thread was set up with an app that would add one more Tweet to the thread after 24 hours.

And this, the one added tweet, was the real  “Terminal Tweet.”

What he had decided on as his final tweet was not simply going to be his last words, or some profound message.  It would be his legacy instead.

His death thread relating the lessons he learned in life would go viral.

And then, 24 hours later…..

The Terminal Tweet would be added.  Which would be a video announcement (already recorded) of Ted’s new course called, obviously, “The Terminal Tweet”, available on Gumroad!

And the beautiful part:  All of the people who engage with the thread would see the Terminal Tweet in their timeline when it was added to the thread!  The real terminal tweet would go viral too!

The course, he knew, would be highly sought after.  It provided great value.  It would teach other creators how to turn their deaths into courses to provide income for their families!

That’s what Ted had always done, and his fans appreciated the value he created.  He would utilize his audience to generate income for his children, by teaching them how to do the exact same thing he did!  And then, they would create courses to teach their audiences the same ideas, with their own unique flavor, of course.  The potential was unlimited!  Plus, everyone dies, so everyone would be a potential customer!

He could only imagine how many of those courses would sell.  His nurse would, when the time came (and he had a contract with her to guarantee this happens), change his Twitter profile’s bio and website link to point everything to the course:  The Terminal Tweet.  And the Gumroad account funds automatically dropped into a bank account he had left his kids.  What an inheritance!  They would be set!  And perhaps then, they would appreciate the value he saw in Twitter.

***

It was getting dark now, and Ted was getting sleepy.  The morphine must be kicking in.  Ted nodded off into that twilight between alertness and sleep.  Funny, he noticed, he didn’t feel any pain anymore.  And what was that annoying beeping?   He felt like he was in a tunnel of light.

Oh my god!  He suddenly realized.  I’m looking down on myself!  It’s happening!

From his vantage point on the ceiling he gazed down on himself in his hospital bed.  Just wait a minute! he thought.  He found himself irritated with the pull of the light, he wanted to see what happened.

The nurse ran in with her colleagues, and they tried to revive Ted.

The beep flatlined.

The nurse sighed and looked at her watch and wrote something down.  Then she sighed again, shook her head and picked up his phone.

She was doing it!  Maybe he could watch for a while and see how the thread performed!  

Ted saw her post the thread and he relaxed.  The pull from the tunnel of light was getting strong now.  It was time to go.  He didn’t have to stay and watch, he knew the thread would go viral.  He leaned into the light and disappeared.

***

Here’s what Ted didn’t see:

He didn’t see the nurse call his family. 

He didn’t see her start taking care of the details that have to be attended to when someone in hospice passes.

He didn’t see his family gather around him in tears, comforting each other.

He didn’t see the dread in his daughter’s eyes as she dealt with funeral arrangements, nor the sorrow that she hadn’t really gotten to speak with her father the last time she visited since he had been buried in his phone.

And finally, a few hours later, Ted didn’t see the Gmail notification pop up on his iPhone.  It was an email message from Twitter:  

@tedcontentguy

 Your account has been permanently suspended for violating our acceptable content policy.

This decision may not be appealed.

We apologize for any inconvenience this might cause you.

Have a nice day.

---