Michael stood motionless, gazing out at the gloomy sunset. The view from his bedroom window was breathtaking, but he felt nothing in this moment. The foliage and extravagantly manicured lawn that painted his estate would be enough to leave any normal person awe stricken. It was moments like this that he couldn't be fazed by anything that was intended to inspire happiness. His loneliness sheltered his mind from outside influence, he was a prisoner in his self loathing.

The holidays should be spent surrounded by loved ones, but this Christmas was proving to be the loneliest time of the year for him. He sighed and retired to his bed, throwing his arm over his eyes, choking back tears. It wasn't that he didn't have options. The cause of his loneliness wasn't ever for a lack of unwilling guests or family members who didn't want to see him. In fact, he had rejected and just flat out ignored many requests for him to join his siblings and parents' holiday gatherings.

The truth was as simple as depression and as complex as deep rooted trust issues when it came to his family. He hated how simple conversations always became a pissing contest of sorts with his brothers. And the eyes their wives made at him- it was like his brothers were blind. His sweet mother couldn't help but dive into reminiscence at every opportunity, which only served to fill Michael with dread. He would rather be alone than be forced to pretend to be someone he wasn't. The guilt that wracked Michael when he thought of his mother's disappointed face was enough to make him reach for a bottle of wine.

Michael rose from his bed and made his way to sit at his desk and booted up his computer, leaning down to retrieve a chilled bottle of wine from his miniature wine chiller. He didn't bother with a glass, he simply used his handy little wine opener and took a swig from the glass bottle. For a moment he wondered if this was the same bottle of wine that his good friend Elizabeth Taylor had gifted him for his birthday. He shrugged, it tasted like plain old red wine to him. He aimlessly browsed the internet, reading world news, scoffing at the state of the U.S. government. He checked his email, played solitaire for thirty minutes and listened to some music samples before logging onto his favorite anonymous chatting site.

He spends half an hour making painfully boring small talk with randoms until LonelyDove111 enters the chat.

"Hi there, I'm Dove. I am a woman from the US in my mid twenties. And you are?" She asks.

Michael sits up in his seat and replies, "Hi Dove, I'm Moonman. I am a male in my mid thirties, also in the US."

"Moonman is such a cute username. How are you? Merry Christmas, by the way."

"Thank you, and Merry Christmas to you. What brings you here?"

"I think my pen name speaks for itself. I am a victim of chronic loneliness." She says. Michael is intrigued by her response.

"I'm no stranger to loneliness. I wonder what else we have in common."

They spend an hour chatting, small talk turning into sharing wild theories about aliens, the universe and briefly about politics. Michael feels the heavy weight of sadness lift every time she says something funny. Until she asks one particular question.

"I'd love to put a face to my new friend. Would you care to swap photos? I can add you as a friend and send you my email address." Michael slumps in his chair.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"And why not, Moonman? Are you hideous?" She teases playfully.

"Maybe."

"I'm only joking, I don't have any expectations. I'm no supermodel myself."

"I just can't, is that okay?"

"Of course it is. I wouldn't want to pressure you into doing anything you didn't feel comfortable doing." She says. Michael breathes a sigh of relief.

"I appreciate your understanding. It's getting late. I've had such a great time chatting with you. Can I message you tomorrow?"

"I'd love that. I'll be on in the afternoon. Talk to you later." She leaves the chat. Michael shuts off his computer.

Finding his way in the dark, he plops down onto his bed, a tipsy smile plastered on his face. It's rare that his anonymous chatting yields anything of interest to him. He wonders briefly if he would ever be able to show her a picture of himself. He doesn't want her to turn out to be a crazy fan of his and expose his secret hobby to the world. He wonders if he can pick her brain to find out what kind of music she enjoys, which artists she listens to. He drifts off to sleep thinking of LonelyDove111.

~

Author's note:

Hi there, I am InsatiableJackson and I am returning after many years of hiatus lol. I hope you are enjoying the story and I look forward to hearing your thoughts! This story won't be very similar to my past works in the sense that there won't be any senseless violence and I have developed better story-telling skills. I am currently looking for a beta reader, so please let me know if you are interested. ♡