Anatomy of a Conspiracy Theory

It was just supposed to be a joke. Well, I guess the joke’s on me because I’m the one rotting in a jail cell. They’re keeping me in a holding cell, and though I don’t have to share it, the toilet is right out in the open, and guards keep walking back and forth. I have a shy bladder and definitely can’t pee if people are watching. I wonder if anyone has ever died from a burst bladder. I would google it, but they took my phone.

I’ve been charged with six counts of involuntary manslaughter and libel against a major corporation. A corporation that can afford top-notch legal representation. My lawyer is going to argue freedom of speech, but I don’t have a good feeling. I’ve begun plucking out strands of my hair again. I’ll probably have bald patches by the time my case comes to trial.

I can’t even begin to process what is happening to me. It’s so stupid. This whole nightmare started a couple of months ago when my boyfriend, Brad, and I went out for a celebratory dinner. Well…my former boyfriend Brad.

Usually, I don’t drink, but we had a lot to celebrate that night. After four agonizing years, the pandemic was finally declared to be over. The CDC held a national press conference to announce the long-awaited news. Dr. Johnson told people to go out to dinner again, go to the movies, and resume a normal life.

Brad and I practically danced our way to the restaurant. We were so sick of masks. We ordered a bottle of champagne and made a toast. “The next mask we wear will be for Halloween.”

When dinner arrived, Brad and I got to talking about all the consequences and hardships of the pandemic. We just couldn’t understand how a worldwide medical disaster could turn into a political war that influenced how people felt about vaccines and masks. Or how folks could fall into the trap of believing conspiracy theories.

My cousin Eleanor, who is actually quite intelligent, believed the government had put little chips in the vaccines so they could track everything you did. A couple of my friends were so sure the vaccines caused infertility that they refused to get them. That’s what inspired our stupid bet. That’s how a new conspiracy theory was born. It was all because of Brad.

Brad claimed people couldn’t be fooled that easily. That there was always some sort of logic, some nugget of truth to every conspiracy theory people were drawn to. That people weren’t that stupid. Well, I disagreed. Brad bet me ten dollars that I couldn’t come up with a believable enough conspiracy theory to cause people to react. Challenge accepted.

Even under normal circumstances, I’ve never been able to resist a bet, but after a bottle of champagne and three shots, I wasn’t thinking clearly. We skipped dessert and went home early because Brad wasn’t feeling well. He ended up vomiting a bunch and collapsed into bed. I, on the other hand, was still feeling giddy, so I grabbed my computer and clicked open Facebook. I couldn’t wait to get started on that bet. A bet that, even if I collected on it, wouldn’t even cover five seconds of my lawyer’s fees. This was what I posted.

Oh, my God! Have you heard the news? The vaccines that were created to fight the virus have now been found to have horrific side effects. Studies being conducted by the CDC show proof that the vaccines, which were designed to amp up our immune systems to fight disease, have fired them up so much that now they’re attacking our own organs. Reports are coming in from all over the world of massively increased rates of diabetes, lupus, and other immune disorders. An investigation is underway to discover if Phreedom Pharmaceuticals, the maker of the vaccines, knew about these consequences. A disgruntled employee of the company now claims Phreedom has been stockpiling diabetes and lupus medications for four years.

I read it over, patted myself on the back, and pressed post. Exhausted, I closed my computer and fell into bed.

The next morning, I woke up with a mouthful of sawdust and the worst headache of my life. It took everything I had just to drag myself into the kitchen to search for the Advil. Just as I was popping four of the tablets into my mouth, Brad stormed into the kitchen and bellowed, “Holy cow, Ruby, what in God’s name did you do? Your post has gone viral. It’s all over Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. People are going crazy. You have to take it down!”

At first, I thought Brad was joking, you know, because of the bet. But when I opened my computer, my heart practically jumped out of my chest. My hands were shaking wildly as I frantically took down my post. It was already too late, though. It had been shared over twelve thousand times. Then it dawned on me. Eleanor.

My cousin Eleanor was a member of about twenty different conspiracy theory groups on Facebook. She had to be the one who’d spread my post. Who else could it be? I grabbed the phone and called her, but before I could say a word, she gushed, “Thank you, Ruby, for bringing this important information to the public! I always knew something like this would happen. You’ve cracked this case like an investigative journalist. I’m so proud of you!”

Now, Eleanor and I had never been close. In fact, we were only Facebook friends because my mother asked me to do her a favor. Eleanor has always been paranoid, even as a kid, and I made it my business to stay out of her way at family gatherings. Talking to her always stressed me out.

I took a deep breath and calmly said, “Eleanor, I am not an investigative journalist, I am a science fiction writer, with an emphasis on fiction. I write books about creatures with big heads and lots of tentacles. I don’t understand anything about medical science, and I made the whole story up. Please take your posts down right now before they do any more damage.”

The next thing I knew, Eleanor did what my niece calls booping. She hung up on me without even saying goodbye. Boop.

I might have told Eleanor a bit of a lie, but it was for a good reason. I actually did know a lot about medical science and at one point had even contemplated writing a dystopian novel about a vaccine apocalypse. The same kind as in my post. But I didn’t end up writing it because I was concerned somebody might take it seriously.

After Eleanor hung up, I tossed down my phone and went back to bed. My head was pounding, and my thoughts were jumbled. My little story was supposed to be a joke, but now that I was sober, I realized what a stupid idea it was. I stayed in bed for most of the day and streamed the entire first season of Seinfeld, getting up for food and bathroom breaks only.

That night after dinner, my mom called in a panic and told me to turn on the Channel 7 news. She was shrieking so loudly I could barely understand her. I flicked on the TV and froze. There, on the screen, was a blown-up version of my driver’s license photo. Those Department of Motor Vehicles photos can make anyone look like a convict.

A reporter was saying, “People are panicking after thirty-one-year-old author Ruby Miller’s allegations that there are severe and multiple side effects from the vaccines. She additionally suggested the pharmaceutical company knew all about the potential risks and profited from it. We spoke with Mr. Winchester, the CEO of Phreedom Pharmaceuticals, who denied all allegations. He asked people to please stop calling customer service because there is not an iota of truth to what Ms. Miller has alleged. Mr. Winchester ended the interview by stating that his team of lawyers would see to it that Ms. Miller is prosecuted for libel to the full extent of the law.”

I threw my shoe at the TV and picked up the phone to call Brad. After his little outburst that morning, he’d packed up all his things and stormed out of the apartment. He wouldn’t take my call, but later that night, he texted me to say we were done. That he could never be with a person who would spread rumors like that. My blood began to boil. The whole thing was his idea. Well, good riddance to bad rubbish. Then I cried myself to sleep.

Over the next few weeks, things got completely out of control. Fox News added a special segment in which they interviewed people newly diagnosed with diabetes and other immune disorders. It was ridiculous. They didn’t even talk about genetic predisposition or any of the diabetes risk factors that so many of these people had. Plus, now Phreedom Pharmaceuticals had thousands of lawsuits pending, and sleazy lawyers were making infomercials. You know the kind. “Have you been harmed by the vaccine? Call us for a free consultation.”

The worst part was that I couldn’t leave my apartment because the press was always outside my door. I was getting so many phone calls I had to switch off my phone. On the advice of my lawyer, I made a statement to the press apologizing for my actions and confirming that the story was completely a work of fiction. I ended up sitting on my couch all day and working on my newest book. It’s about aliens that invade people’s brains and make them do stupid stuff.

My poor mother had to do my grocery shopping and run all my errands. As I worked on my book, it crossed my mind that it might never be published. That I might never be published again. Or would people want to read my book out of morbid curiosity?

Even with everything going on, I was still trying to stay positive that things would blow over and hoping that my twenty seconds of fame would soon be up. That wasn’t to be the case. Just when things were starting to quiet down, I got word that six people had committed suicide because of my Facebook story. Six human beings that were so terrified of getting sick they took their own lives. That night, two police officers showed up at my door to arrest me. Brad got off scot-free.

A police escort will arrive soon to take me to the courthouse. My lawyer advised me to plead not guilty. He’s going to argue my First Amendment rights, but really, who’s to blame here? Is it just me? Is it me and Brad? Is it me and Eleanor? Is it me and Mark Zuckerberg? Perhaps it’s the media for spreading my story so quickly, or Fox News for practically confirming it. Or is it every single conspiracy theorist who reposted my story over and over again on social media?

Meanwhile, I’ve lost my home, brought shame upon my family, and I’m pretty sure my parents will have to declare bankruptcy after paying my lawyer’s fees. I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to go to prison. I’m not cut out for it. I would do anything to take that story back.