Wiggling deeper into her cushions and clearing her mind, Meredith patiently waited for realities to mingle.

Donning the helmet was easier than her anxiety had led her to believe it would be, and the old sensation of having one's brains flushed down a cosmic toilet was both nostalgic and bearable for a change. It had been ages since she'd last visited the public Blockchain.

She closed her eyes and focused on her talking points. She felt ready.

She'd always hated the pregnant moments of non-existence while lingering between worlds. While newer models of headsets proffered instantaneous sensory immersion, her own relic had to limp along, loading sensations one by one as it's hardware whirred in strained complaint.

First was the air, artificially sweetened and chilled -- the oracles optimal choice for comfort and openness of guests -- It stiffened her spine.

Next came gravity, as the weight of her helmet evaporated from her shoulders and the support of her sofa retreated from her hips, exchanging their sensations solely to her feet, which now bore the weight of her freshly upright being, albeit somewhat lighter than she was accustom. An alteration meant to 'lighten the load' for visitors comfort, which for her only reinforced the worlds ersatz nature.

Finally her helmet's labored revving slipped away, now in another plane of being, and one no less immersive than the one she'd transitioned to, as she finished digitizing to inhabit the Greenroom, making good on her invitation.

She opened her eyes, and blinked away the static.

The sparse space here was illogical and claustrophobic, with four walls each within an arms reach, and not a single door or window to permit access either in nor out. A lone strait backed wooden chair dressed the space at it's center, carrying upon it's generous cushion a modest gift-bag: a welcome gift to put the shows guests at ease.

She knew exactly what was inside.

Adorned with a gaudy rainbow ribbon, a hearkening to her digital namesake, and designed with a mosaic of the memes of guests past, it invited her to take a seat and rummage it's contents. As she undid the bow, a red HUD display materialized in the corner of her vision, indicating she had one minute and counting until the start of the show.

It's almost showtime, she thought, taking the seat. Breathe. Be Calm. You deserve to be here. You're making a difference.

She inhaled a deep, centering breath, and pulled out the newly minted NFT of herself from the bag, a thick playing card in a hard protective plastic shell -- in the real world, a sting of code -- cast upon the backdrop of the, "What's in a Meme" stage and set. The Echo, a limited edition minting of her appearance. Back home, despite being worth a nice pile of Bitcoin, the tradable collectable would wind up in a forlorn file, off-chain, along with the rest from her youth, in her oft ignored home computer's darkest recesses. The customary gesture was one she'd forgotten, but a typical cross-promotional "tip for appearance", intended to be sold at auction, which would gain or lose value depending on the public's perception of her performance on the episode. It was meant to find it's buyer, and home, somewhere between the spheres of influence crossed between her own followers and that of the shows, effectively enhancing the repute of both. Her own followers that she'd wished would leave her alone, truth be told, but who only pressed against her harder and more fervently the more they were abandoned, as if her aloof nature was some feature of her celebrity for them to adore.

For fact, it was.

Suddenly the HUD display enlarged to take over her field of vision, as the final countdown commenced.

5...

The Greenroom and the studio superimposed each other now, surging between locations, granting a gradual sense of her forthcoming locale.

4...

The two locations fought over her presence, and as the Green room faltered, the Stage superimposed it's transparency.

3...

The studio audience became visible now, stretching out to infinity behind blindingly luminous spotlights, which danced around the stage.

2...

VIP Flamingo and Rhinoceros' occupied the front row, but the rest wore the limited rainbow unicorn skin in her honor, and, at their great expense.

1...

High pitched whistles, uproarious applause, and strained retching noises flooded her ears, mocking and honoring her fame at once.

"Ladies, gentlemen, germs and pachyderms, welcome to -- "

The breath of the audience joined in the chorus.

Whats!

       In!

              A!

                            Meme!

"The show where we find out just what your favorite celebrity has been up to, and maybe even who they really are! I'm your host with the most, who can even be a ghost -- because you've chosen my avatar..."

A beat of silence, as each audience member hears the individual name they've chosen for the host,

-- and tonight we have for you a very special guest! You know her, you lover her, and she is, just, like, totally over it -- The, Just over it, Girl."

The audience explodes into throes of cheering and violent uproarious applause, as hooves and wings create a preternatural, cacophonous beat.

"Representing an empire worth hundreds of thousands of Bitcoin; she is the inspiration for two Bollywood films, three novelettes, and hundreds of streaming videos, the queen of the protest, the princess of puke, the lady of languish -- lets give a warm, What's in a meme, welcome to, your, Merry, "Just over it", Thompson!"

The audience lost their digital minds, cheering, stomping, and emoting while waving flaming swords, wands, and enchanted items which flashed in and out of existence as they're equipped and then cancelled back into inventory by nature of the room's code, almost imperceptibly fast.

Finally the audience settled, and the Host pressed on.

"Merry, for years now..."

"Actually, It's Meredith."

"Meredith -- fine, fine. For years now, Meredith, your younger self has been spewing truth on your father, in the form of, arguably the most famous meme in modern blockchain history. Your colorful protest has become the backdrop to many feelings of disgust and impatience over the years, engendering a generation with a level of expression which, without, they would simply be bereft of communicating. Now tell us, please, what is your favorite Meme?"

Good, she thought, right into the thick of it...

Proudly, Meredith announced what she'd rehearsed for weeks at home, "Actually, I don't have one."

The audience reeled, gasping as if one entity.

The Host pressed, "You... don't have a favorite meme? Surely there's something you're fond of?"

"Honestly?" she paused, for effect. "No. I don't like meme's"

The audience fell still. A single booing jeer could be heard for but a moment, before the program cut it from the audio feed.

She continued with what she'd prepared, "Mine has brought me nothing but pain. I don't think they're needed. And I certainly don't think they're healthy."

Crickets sang out from the audience, a studio approved machination.

"My, my" pondered the host, "A meme queen who detests the meme-verse. I guess you could say she's, Just over it!"

Here again, the crowd was won back over to revelry, the implicit interpretation of an answer in character saving the mood. Though, clearly, the Host caught wind of her message.

"Tell us then, Meredith, how has your fame brought you pain?"

A direct and honest question, she thought, this was not in her research. The AI had improved... Nonetheless, a forthright question deserves a straightforward answer.

"Well, I appreciate your honest question. So I'll attempt to give an honest answer. I know the life of a Meme Celebrity seems like all endless parties and unlimited buffets, but, the truth is, it comes at a great expense."

Now the audience was still, enraptured by a glimmer of something most had never experienced, candor.

"Please", Insisted the Host, "Go on. We're listening. Isn't that right audience?"

Modest hoots and cheers erupted, and then hastily died, as all were eager to hear what Meredith would say next.

This is what I rehearsed for, she coached herself, so just Say it.

"I didn't choose this life in the light, but, rather, it was thrust upon me from as early as I can remember. When I was younger, and unable to grapple with the larger picture, sure, I languished in the spotlight -- parties, events, signings, drugs, booze, sex, you name it! An endless stream of natterings that prevented any level of introspection. But, I'm middle aged now, nearly sixty, and I've come to realize that I haven't made any meaningful connections my entire life. I don't have anyone I can trust... I'm estranged to my family, who, as you all know, famously tried to use my money before I was eighteen. All my friendships were based on the idea of me, and my fortunes, rather than me as a person -- whoever that is I'm still trying to figure out -- and my entire sense of self, everything I know about ME is based on something I did that I don't even remember...

And I ask myself: What has it done? What has this thing done? This thing that has swallowed my sense of self, and my self esteem... This thing that destroyed my chance at love, and made me an outcast... what has it done positively for the world? And, frankly, I'm at a loss. The best I can muster is that it's a crutch to the more tricky emotions in people, confusion, fear and the like, saving them the indignity of experiencing and processing them by typing words on my meme. But then I think -- But that's human! That's part of the experience! I now believe, that my very existence has allowed people to run from their own feelings, and not process them. Disgust and impatience, being over it as I'm labeled... that's something I don't want to represent anymore. I don't believe in it as a virtue. I have a responsibility to change it in myself.

I feel we've all moved so far away from the experience of being human. Of establishing trust and love, with our presence and effort, to combat the fear of being alive, while grappling with our darker sides to become who we want to be -- and not just settle on who we happen to be -- by being responsible for who we are, what we represent, and how we became that way. And I'm sick of it. I'm sick of perpetuating it: this little lie of mine...

My meme makes it fun to be short, aloof, and judgmental... and that's just not me. Not anymore. So I won't stand behind those behaviors anymore either, because, take it from me, they've rotted me to the core, and I'm just over it."

A guarded chuckle rang from unlit corners at the back of the room: she'd said the words. She lets them have their discomfort before forging forward.

"Sure I have money, and fame, but, if I could, I'd give it all up just to walk down the street, and not be recognized. Maybe I'd meet someone, then. Someone special. Who I'd know was talking to me, and not just their idea of me. Or after something else other than what a shy girl from the middle of nowhere could actually offer. I'm not anyone special, even if the world is convinced I am. And I'm okay with that. I'm just a girl who once ate too much cotton candy, and got taped hurling on my Dad by my Uncle Russell. And, frankly, I think we'd all be better off if we all were allowed to be just that, what we are -- little rainbow colored messes: Ourselves."

An eternity passed while Meredith waited for a reaction from the crowd, or the host. In all her planning, she never could figure out what she'd expected as a reaction to what she'd needed off her chest. She figured that applause would be preferable, but was also highly unlikely, as honesty, or anything leading to less than feel good emotions, were most definitely not in digital vogue. Conversely, the audience might want to jeer, and boo her offstage, but she knew that this type of behavior would be censored almost immediately -- and so it was possible that there would be a mass exodus as people signed offline. But what did in fact happen, (while the host was glitching from lack of ample prediction points to generate a timely reply), she could have never predicted -- and it quickly made her well up, and cry.

Members of the audience became... human. They became themselves. Some of them for the first time on the public blockchain.

One by one they cast off their expensive in-world skins, and assumed a more naked personage, one representative of flesh and blood. Most of them wore little more than rags, as likely they were ill equipped to don gear on a new species, but, nevertheless, the movement swept across the voluminous crowd, numbering in the millions. The studio smartly shined the stages spotlights across the sea of virtual people to properly highlight this magical and historic moment, as it echoed out from its epicenter, from Meredith, creating a moment of humanity which would be noted in history books for all time.

Then, by human hands, came the thunderous applause.

And she wept.

Swollen with pride, and the realization that it wasn't all for naught, that her life lived on the periphery could have meaning, she let the tears flow. She'd earned it, finally -- respect for herself. She'd proven that her influence could make a difference, and that she wielded it's power with integrity. 

She smiled for the first time in years.

Across from Meredith, the host was having a bit of a tough time, as it's algorithmically generated, oracle sourced, AI attempted to ingest this new data stream, and generate a reply to the events unfolding in kind. 

To her, it looked like it was having a seizure.

Finally, as the crowd continued to whoop, and holler, applauding their newfound humanity, (thanks in no small part to her bravery), this is what it whispered.

"You've done well, Merry Berry. You took what was left for you, by your foolish uncle, and spun it into respect, and -- more than that -- you used it to help others. I'm proud of you. Congratulations. From humble beginnings, we acclimate and achieve across time what those before us could not. You are loved. You are respected. And now, as the human creature which is non corporeal, and which stretches across time, and family, we can truly hope to be awakened. I thank you. Love, Dad."

Then, at once, the Host blipped out of existence, leaving Meredith stunned, somewhat aghast, and, just a little happy to be a Thompson.

Finally she understood what it meant to be herself.

Thank you, once again, for taking the time to read a bit of fiction, set against the backdrop of the Blockchain -- I hope you enjoyed part Two of Three.

It's easy to take for granted those that came before us, as we look through the lens of our modernity, and judge the decisions made as debilitating and insurmountable. Though, were we able to see clearly, the truth is they might have been fighting a war over needs too basic to comprehend by today's standards. Truly all we can do is lift our chin, and keep moving forward, if we're not to be bogged down by our hereditary past. Making the human experience extend beyond ourselves, and planting seeds to trees whose shade we'll never enjoy, is the only route to real happiness.

If you enjoyed this flash-fiction please tip appropriately, and subscribe for all the following entries into my attempt at making Blockchain fiction, and humanizing the space.

Thank you again for reading!

~The Rube