This is my second fic for the Meet the Robinsons/The Incredibles. My first one was the first fanfic I posted in years and I have grown a lot as a writer since then. This story was inspired by a few things, the Holocaust, the movie V for Vendetta and finally a large portion was inspired by a documentary I watched today (which pushed me into writing this whole chapter in one night) that was about the effects of solitary confinement.


I don't know who you are and I doubt you've ever heard of me. I'm sure they've erased all signs of me and my family. All the things we did and it's like we never existed. But I don't care. I am me, and I don't know who you are, but I love you.

There is one guard here, one of the 'purists' who isn't as hard as the others. He's only a few years older than me. He's never spoken to me, but I like to speculate on his life. It passes the time. Sometimes I like to think his family forces him to do this and others that maybe he's a mole, one of us hiding in plain sight, just waiting for the moment to set us free.

I've named him Tom. Tom slips me books to read and I found a small pencil under my mattress last night.

I probably won't be able to write again, so this is a long letter about my life. It is the only autobiography I have ever written and I'm writing it on the torn out, blank pages of my precious books.

I think I'm seventeen. It's hard to tell, it feels like years and years have passed, but when I look in the mirror I look the same as the day I was captured. Mostly anyway.

All I ever wanted was to be normal. Being special, having the powers that I do has cause nothing but misery for me.

I was invisible in so many ways growing up, we moved around so much. I was always 'the new girl'.

When I was thirteen we moved to our home in Metroville near our godfather and family friend Lucius. My youngest brother was born there and I met my first love.

When I was fourteen a threat came to my family, an evil man known as Syndrome who wanted to destroy my family. For the first time I was asked to use my abilities, abilities that I had hated for years and been told never to use.

We saved people, and for a while we were praised just like in the Golden Age my father loved and I'm proud of what we did.

Pride is a funny thing, it sells for so little and they've taken it from most of us. I'm given pills every morning through a slot in my door to suppress my powers and I only leave this room every couple of days to have a fifteen minute, supervised, shower.

Through it I remain proud, it is the very last inch of us. But within that inch we are free.

High school, I was surprisingly happy there. I dated Tony and even trusted him with my identity. We loved each other. We talked about how we'd live together and on Valentine's Day he sent me roses. It was the best two years of my life.

When I was sixteen things turned ugly. The purists, those who believed we were unnatural, began rounding us up and anyone who was associated with us.

Poor Tony, a newspaper photograph of us talking while I was in costume let them know that he knew me.

They took him one morning on his way to school. Why are they so frightened of us? They questioned and tortured him, made him give them my name. He signed a statement saying I'd used my powers to control him. I didn't blame him. I loved him. I didn't blame him.

But he did. I saw the look in his eyes as they released him while they brought me and my family into custody. The last bit of news I ever heard from the outside world is that he killed himself. He couldn't live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch.

They told me that all information about me would be burned. They shaved off my hair and tattooed a symbol on my left cheek. I'm not sure what they used, but it wasn't regular ink. Sometimes I can just barely see it and if the light hits it just right it looks like the glow sticks I played with as a child.

The symbol they chose is ironic. My reading has taught me that it's called an Om, a Tibetan symbol meaning emptiness and purity.

They are not pure. They brought me here and have kept me alone in my tiny cell for who knows how long. They shave my head every few weeks and I haven't seen the sun once since I was brought here. Sometimes I forget what it looked like.

Others have died here. I've seen the bodies be carried out past the tiny window in the door to my cell. I haven't seen my parents or my brothers though and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I sometimes wonder if I'll die here too, if we'll all be kept here until we die.

If I do die here every last inch of me will be gone. There will be no record of there ever being me, like I never existed. No trace, except one.

An inch. It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us. I entrust it to you.

I don't know who you are. Or whether you're a man or a woman. If you're close to my age or not. I may never see you or cry with you or laugh with you. But I love you. I hope that you never have to face this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people like me can be accepted.

Violet Parr


First chapter, but are there any predictions?

Reviews = Karma