The Wattpad Game

10. R4R

The noise of their mouths chewing on a bun, meat, and cheese repulses my senses. The screams of their contactless cards chipping their seven-dollar bill for their fast food creak in my ears. Their pitiful existences leave me wondering what I am doing here in this miscreant hangout.

There it is: my reason, named Diallo. Mr. Jones has his eyes and fingers glued to his phones. The famed Mr. Jones of Wattpad with his five hundred followers, who doesn't even dare look at me once. Poor Diallo, who brought his own homemade veggie olive wraps with mustard vinaigrette and his spinach smoothie to Mc Donalds.

I clear my voice. "So, are you watching a movie on your phone?"

At long last, he looks at me with his mouth dripping with sauce. I turn my sight away from this sickening scene while I can just imagine him wiping it with the sleeve of his jumper.

"Excuse me, you were saying something, Paul?" he asks with his elbows on the table and his dark, widening eyes.

"Yes," I exhale loudly. "I was wondering what could keep you so busy on your phone?"

"It's just that stupid guy on Wattpad!" He clicks his tongue and throws his hand in the air. "I read his book and left at least ten comments per chapter for our R4R, and today, only after two weeks, he just started to check my book and left one comment per chapter. How does it feel when someone just says that your book made him LOL?"

"What's a R4R?"

"Paul, seriously?" he asks, his mouth now falling open, showing me its contents. "Dude, how long have you been on Wattpad for you not to know what's a R4R? a F4F, or even a V4V? Theoretically, the last one is a big no-no to Wattpad's rules, but surely?"

"I just don't know what it is, Diallo."

"Let me check your book," he says with another bite of his wraps, and the sauce now covers his hand. "You have no followers, Paul?" Diallo shakes his head. "Then your book for the five months you have been there only has a hundred views, most probably your own one?" then he blows a raspberry out to add to my defeat. "Let me have a look and see if there is any comments."

"Enough now!" I scream, a strand of my hair falling out of place as I lunge over the table to grab his phone. It is too late, though.

"A smiley," he says. "Your only comment is a skull!"

I breathe out and sit back on my chair. Losing my temper is not something I usually do. After readjusting my tie, I say, "It's not my fault if those people can't recognise greatness!"

Diallo laughs and takes a sip of his drink. That mocking attitude of his exasperates me. "No wonder, you didn't make it to the Sweet Dream Awards!"

"The result is out?"

"Yeah, since yesterday!"

"Why doesn't it show up on my notification?"

"Did you follow the host?"

"Yes, and I even gave his miserable awards a shout out!" I answer while Diallo giggles again at me. "What?"

"Nothing!" he sips on his drink even louder. "I made it to the runner-up list while you only had a review."

"A review?" I repeat with the urge to check the app on my phone.

Indeed, I only had a review. My precious book didn't make it to the top three finalists. My white minimalistic cover with only my blood red title "The sword shall perish with the sword" and my divider blade underneath to separate my dark pen name, all aligned on the left, was scored a zero. My chapters were apparently too long. Some of my paragraphs were also too long, and all my dialogues clung together, leaving no room for comment. Worse of all, the judge pointed out my misuse of a comma for a splice comma. I fume at that preposterous review. This was a web of lies; I had been to all the greatest courses in literature. I even once humiliated my own teacher about his misuse of a comma, this person must not have been right in their mind.

I couldn't resist peeking at Diallo's review. I shrug at the compliment made to his cover. I gasp annoyingly at his 'entertaining hooks in each chapter.' Then I felt pity at the last line of his review 'The huge amount of comments and interest in the book leaves me wondering that the world might be dictated by the people's own enjoyment, over some minor grammatical issues.'

That stupid Diallo, who can't even write his name right. In that moment, there was nothing else left for me to do.

"Diallo, it was nice to see you, but something just came up and I had to attend to it right away." I excuse myself before leaving. I leave him with my untouched, cold hamburger in that sordid place where he belongs.

I jump in a taxi and go straight home, my nostrils flaring in anger. My fist tightens in wrath at the memory of that awful review. How dare they? How dare that brainless driver stop at a red light? How dare they say that about my book?

My eyes turn red. My veins burst out of my neck when I shout from all my lungs at this crime. I throw a quick one-hundred-dollar bill to that useless driver and get out of his junk of a car. I run back to my house. I need to be back there.

I will not lose the Wattpad game.

From there on, my red tie is off, and my hand is on my mouse, searching for the meaning of a R4R. Then I am straight away on the hunt for active low-life on Wattpad. After making a list of their names, I read through their book entirely. Books after meaningless, abject books, I read, comment, and vote. The twenty-four-hour binge end with me vomiting on the toilet of my ensuite. I vomit out all their disgusting worlds, their lifeless joys, and their appalling smuts. I vomit it all out for ten more followers and a hundred views on my book.

However, this plan would be the end of me. So I summon my friend Google, and I check with him, 'Can you buy followers on Wattpad?' I would cheat if I couldn't succeed the right way.

Then heaven opens its gates for me.

'Five dollars to read, comment, and support your story.'

Over there, it says, 'Fifteen dollars to read, comment, and promote your story.'

And there are 'ten dollars to make your book cover.'

Then another tenner to 'read, comment, and interact on your book' and she comes with a mouth that will suck something else from me for the same amount!