Cry is an enigma. To over a million subscribers that know him as 'Cry', or 'ChaoticMonki', they know very little. The sparse information they have is that he's a twenty five year old male who lives in Florida, goes by a pseudonym on the Internet and posts videos of himself playing video games. Some say it's for his own entertainment, others argue it's for the thousands who watch him. It certainly puts him in a better light; the selfless man who only ever does things for others' benefit. It may be a partial truth.

Cry himself is not too sure why he does it. On some occasions it's out of boredom, the virtual world certainly holds more interest than reality. Other times, he feels the obligation to his subscribers to upload a video that they declare brightens their day, puts a smile on their face in the comments. His own mouth quirks up at that, reading how he's so drastically changed the lives of fourteen year old boys who have an unhealthy obsession with Amnesia.

Maybe it's a slight exaggeration, a stretch of the truth. Still, it does feel good to know the hours he spends shielded from light, hidden away from the outside world in his darkened bedroom contributes in some small, insignificant way. Yes, he's had to sigh as he writes an explanation to the viewers who demand to know why he wastes his life on the Internet, I do know the dangers of a lack of Vitamin D, I think I'll be okay. He can go overboard, however, and his replies are too sarcastic, too mocking for a few people. It does provoke what can only be described as a 'shitstorm' in the comment section, two dividing sides becoming apparent: those who defend Cry, and those who oppose him.

He finds he has to remind himself, from time to time, that people will be people, no matter wherever you go- and one hate comment stating Cry should 'go kill himself because he's a waste of space', or whatever- does not overrule the majority of people who like him for who he is.

It can be hard not to get detached from reality and be absorbed into the virtual world, because honestly?- honestly Cry prefers the latter.

Cry's hunched over his glowing laptop screen, tapping furiously at the keys as he types out a formal apology to his subscribers saying he'll be away for a week or two, and clicks 'create post'. Within minutes it's hovering around a hundred notes, and he gets flooded with inbox messages from anonymous people demanding to know the reason. For a minute, he's tempted to compose another length-y public note, explaining- but this is the Internet, not 'Cry's sob story imposed onto unwilling Tumblr users who happen to follow him'. It'll never be reality TV, where he may get the chance to spell out his sob story to a sympathetic audience. Cry knows the deal- he lists every personal detail he ever has, he risks the more than likely possibility of danger.

His reply to every messages remains unchanging: I'm going on a holiday. Figure it was about time I went out into the sunlight. But people are insistent, and intrusive, so it doesn't slow the flow of messages- rather, prompts questions too nosey for his liking. Cry's getting exasperated with it, so he cuts it short by logging off. His mind's throbbing, from lack of sleep- four in the morning and he's still up, browsing for anything that will serve as a distraction from the headache. It's not severe, only minor- nothing compared to the hour long migraines he can get- he'll get through this one.

A video lies in a computer folder, a reminder to Cry he needs to get editing, still has ten minutes worth of work left to do. But he's so, so tired and needs a good rest he hasn't been getting for the past few days. It can wait, he decides, closing down programmes and is about to shut down when he sees a Skype message lingering.

He clicks on it, and it opens up, uncovering it's from Felix- better known as 'Pewdiepie' to the 17 million who adore him. Sometimes their devotion to him can get a little sickening. He's never been to Vidcon- refusing to show his face and revealing his identity and all that- but he's certainly seen the videos, swarms of people shrieking, high pitched female voices waving handmade banners in a bid to get Felix's attention.

How they throw themselves at him, are so desperate for him to notice them, makes Cry scoff. Pewds is just a person like them, another ordinary guy who happens to have become the most subscribed Youtuber on the Internet. Luckily all the fame hasn't gone to his head, it hasn't swollen and he's still the same odd, quirky guy with a grin on his face as he introduces himself in his videos. They're a little too weird for Cry's liking, can veer off the point where Felix can get distracted through entertaining people, but he's hardly one to criticise.

'hey cry,' the message reads (just as Cry refers to him as 'Pewds', Pewds refers to him as Cry. It's something special they share), 'im coming to florida for 3 weks, wanted to know if u wanted to met up?' Cry snorts. Pewds' spelling is atrocious; Swedish or not, it's hardly an excuse. 'let me know if u do, love pewdie xoxoxoxo'. Of course it would end ridiculously, the kisses and hugs he sends are hardly sincere. Cry's no Marzia; he can't steal Pewds' heart. Real shame.

Pewdie's message sparks something inside of him: mixed emotions, battling whether he should go to meet a friend he's known for a couple of years know, skyped even, or refuse his invitation and stay cooped up in his house, as usual. The Swede's message does interrupt with his plans- how so very unfortunate- plans to go visit his sister, who lives in the sunny state of California. Then again, the two states do compete when it comes to good weather. But, a side of him points out; he can see his sister any time he likes and that dickhead husband of hers. This is an opportunity he may never get again, an opportunity to meet Felix. Is it not all he's ever wanted? No, his insecurities scream at him, don't do it. It means showing his face, and that's something he's managed to keep concealed all these years. He should be proud of himself really, it's an achievement worth boasting of. Besides, what would he say to Pewds? How would he react? Cry knows he's not good enough, doesn't fit society's almost impossible ideals when it comes to looking good.

It's not like Felix, who doesn't need to worry about his looks, just needs to crack a confusing joke in that cute accent of his, grin at the camera and he's got the female viewers sold. After all this time, such suspense and speculation about his real face has been built up, he could never hope to reach expectations, say he did show his face. Thoughts are a tangled mess in his head, as he tries to untangle them, make sense of it all.

He doesn't realise he's been gnawing at his lip until there's a stinging pain, the tangy taste of salt filling his mouth. Shit. He's bleeding.

Cry is about to scramble out of his seat, search for a plaster he can use to cover the shallow wound- it's a habit- until the light bulb hovering over his head flicks on and he remembers you don't put plasters over your lip. Fucking idiot. So he resigns to licking away the blood, tongue exploring the grooves his front teeth have left. Saliva substituting as antiseptic, Cry hopes the bullshit article he once read about saliva being self-healing is true. He's sure as hell not going near his mouth with a bottle of outdated TPC.

And that's the whole truth, the only truth and nothing but the truth.