Echo Chamber

I was a music major, a real prodigy, graduated top of my class at the conservatory. I even had a little buzz going online, posting covers that got some decent views.

But when I dropped an original song, the internet turned on me faster than you can say "copyright." The comments all accused me of plagiarism, even my classmates looked at me sideways, telling me to apologize.

I listened to the other song, and yeah, the melody was exactly the same as mine, note for note, but it had been posted a day earlier. And the girl who put it out? She was at my school, a dance major, not even in the music program.

I tried to prove I didn't copy it, but how do you explain two identical songs? It was impossible. The school got bombarded with angry messages from my "fans," my favorite professor looked at me with pure disappointment. They even tracked down my parents, sending them funeral wreaths, which triggered a heart attack for my mom and dad. My phone blew up constantly, every ring a fresh jab.

Lost in the chaos and anxiety, I stumbled and fell into the river, drowning in the icy water.

Then, I woke up. It was the day before my song was released.

The cold, murky water was stealing my breath. As the panic set in, I sucked in a lungful of air, my eyes flying open. I was in my dorm room.

Everything was quiet. I smacked myself, just to be sure. It stung. It wasn't a dream.

I'd been given a second shot.

My roommate, Chloe, looked over, wrinkling her brow at the red mark on my face. "Liv, are you okay? Why'd you just smack yourself?"

I forced a casual tone. "Mosquito," I said.

Chloe shrugged and turned back to her show. "Oh, right. Hey, you still dropping that track? Let me know when, I'll be your biggest fan."

The song!

My heart pounded. I glanced at my phone. The finished music was there, ready to go, I just needed to finalize the lyrics.

Last time, today, I'd been hit with a wave of inspiration. I'd written the lyrics, matched them to the track, and excitedly posted the demo online.

It was supposed to be the launch of my career.

Instead, it became a nightmare.

Within hours, "Olivia James PLAGIARISM" was trending. The gossip bloggers were on it, dissecting the songs, making comparisons. For every person praising "Maya Carter," there were ten flooding my account with insults.

I posted a video explaining my process, but people called it an act. Maya’s tearful, victimized smile on camera only made things worse. They photoshopped my picture with death-themed imagery, sent wreaths to my family. People would throw food at me, even rocks, when I walked outside. My face, covered in blood, ended up all over the internet, fueling the fire.

The relentless harassment broke me. The constant phone calls, the hate comments. I slipped and fell into the river.

Just the memory made me tremble.

I checked Maya’s account. She had posted a new video an hour ago. She was at a grand piano, playing a short snippet of music. The caption read: "Countdown to Surprise!"

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