Short story

This is a short story I just wrote about a kid addicted to chatrooms and learns about them the hard way xD. It's a first draft, so its EXTREMELY rough, BUT I think it's kinda funny. 

A bell chime, bright blue box, and friendly greeting nuzzled my tired senses. My eyes, locked in a squint, felt heavy under wide-rimmed glasses. It was midnight, and I was lonely. My hair stood straight up from where it had laid on my pillow for an hour. Shadows crept from behind the soft glow of the computer screen, which cast an almost spiritual glow through my little room. I had developed the habit of resting my stomach on the back of my dad’s old office chair and leaning forward to read the small font on my monitor. I held a blanket between my feet, one bare and one with a plaid Christmas sock. The chair squeaked as my arms reached for the keyboard on the desk.

I had joined a chatroom on the website “Christian Teen Forums.” Google had brought it up under the advertisement “Christian? Single? Join for real conversation with Godly peers"; it sounded like the lovechild of a dating website and Bible study, and I would’ve jumped to join either. I signed up with the name “Silent Hunter,” which I heard on a video game; but I soon realized no seventeen year old girl would talk to someone who was a quiet predator. I made the switch to “Pianist4Him,” and wasn’t disappointed. The kids were all screwed up dweebs, but they were still people who would talk to me. I would pretend to go to bed, close the door, and jump into the chatroom.

“P4H!” That was my pseudonym. “Whassuppppp?” A girl with the name “fairylvrofGod” messaged me.

“Nothing much.” I always spelled out everything because I thought it made me look intelligent. The tapping on my laptop sounded like mice fighting. “You?”

“Just chilling ;).” I mentally filled in the semicolon and closing parentheses with big brown eyes and a killer smile.

“Haha, cool. So,” I started. “There are wayyy too many cussers for a ‘Christian’ forum, don’t you think?”

“Totally. It’s ridiculous. Their all so quick to judge to.”

“Really? What do you mean?”

“Yep.” Her phrasing spaced out for several minutes. “I’m considering an abortion, and everyone’s being all judge-y” flashed on the screen.

I nearly spit my lukewarm Dr. Pepper and stared at my grungy laptop.

“I mean,” fairylvr continued, “I’m nearly 13. That’s totally old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Yeah…” I typed slowly. “It’s a tough decision. I dunno what I’d do.” I hadn’t even thought about it; the closest I’d had to experience was listening to a Roe V Wade debate on talk radio. “Don’t you like babies?”

“I love babies! But I think it’d be nonchristian.”

“There’s always a chance!”

“No. The father’s totally went gay after we broke up. It’s in the babie’s genes.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. My mom’s had three abortions. My dad beats her.”

I had nearly fallen out of my chair, and instead knelt in front of the screen, eyes wide.

“I’m so sorry. Can I pray?”

“I’m actually a Muslim.”

Oh my god. FairylvrofGod was probably going to blow up the baby or something.

“Please, don’t be one of those. When you say you’re a “lvrofGod,” you need the right one.”

“But we get to use guns!”

“Is that worth going to hell?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“I’m going to pray.” I started typing out a prayer as I murmured it, but was interrupted.

“Are you pregnant?”

“I’m a guy…”

“Are you gay?”

“No…”

“How old are you?”

My hands quivered. My mom’s warnings of stalkers started entering into my mind. This was probably Charles Manson on an iPhone outside my room.

“Do you wanna sext? I have nudes.”

I hacked “g2g” and left. To this day, I never trust anyone who likes fairies.