My shortest prologue.

"I was told to make a video journal about my time spent in this…" I pause and look at the cell-slash-room I'm confined to, "…place."

The hard lump in my throat starts to grow and I turn away from the camera to make it look like I'm spinning in the chair. Except the chair doesn't spin as well as I thought it did. There will be a small bruise on my thigh from hitting the desk.

I don't know what to say to the camera, it reflects my tired eyes, my oily hair, and dirty skin. I wish I could shower…

"There's no shower around so cleaning up isn't a choice I guess. I'm not big on being dirty or anything. I think showers are probably the cure to thought-block."

Thought-block: Not thinking or having a thought process.

"I guess that's it for now."

I turn off the recording light by passing my thumb over it. I scan the room again to take it in better and maybe accept the situation.

There's a bed in the right corner, at the farthest point away from the door, and the desk with the camera and chair in the left corner. The rest of the room is bare, a cold steel color but not actual steel. It's much stronger and less echo-y.

I don't know what to do with it, how I'm going to get through this mess and live.

I know I'm not going to punch the wall and break every bone in my hand though, and I know that bed is looking more and more displeasing every time I look at it. The fluffy pillow and thick blanket. The cloud-like mattress. I pull the thick blanket onto the cold floor and wrap myself in it.

They won't get me to surrender that easy.

I won't lose myself like the rest of them.


Multiple stings of pain force me to wake up, and when I see the amount of needles sticking out of my arms, I wish I had stayed asleep.

"We're vaccinating you so you might be slightly nauseous for awhile."

I only nod. Nauseous my ass, I'll feel like shit went down in my digestive system for days.

Another prick and I lose consciousness.


I don't bother eating the bland oatmeal-like food they serve me, I can barely keep my own spit down as it is with an ever changing body temperature.

They installed a bathroom where the bare space was sometime before I woke up so I've been using it frequently. It's mostly been shower, sleep, read, shit, shower, read, sleep, puke, shower, sleep. Repeat each day.

What I hate the most is the stuffy and runny noses. I can't breathe at all. I can't speak either so I don't bother with the video journals for however long I'm sick.

Though I would love to see their water and electric bill after I'm through with them.


When I notice my lack of flow, they tell me it's the stress.

I hope they're right.

I've had a lack of flow for nearly three months and my abdomen hasn't gotten any bigger. I take note that I've gotten extremely skinny and pale too. At least this is what my doctor says, except he says it's been eleven weeks.

"Does this hurt?"

The doctor hits like he's hammering a nail into my limbs. I don't feel much besides a dull throb.

"A little bit."

"On a scale of one to ten? Ten being the highest."

I want to say a three, but I go a little bit lower, "About a two and a half."

He puts me on a weight scale, "You've lost nearly forty pounds, you're at ninety five. You need to eat more."

Then my height, "You've grown an inch, congratulations, you're at five foot seven. Eat more."

No shit Sherlock. Maybe I won't, "eat more," just to piss you off.

Except I'm not up for dying, "I will." If I can get more variety. Or something with better texture than oatmeal.


The camera comes to life once my thumb touches the glassy surface over the light, blinking at me and ready to accept my confession.

"So, I've never said why I'm here but I'll tell you guys now," I pause and take a deep breath. It doesn't go smoothly and I try until it's like…well, smooth breathing. I grin at myself before looking back at the camera with a painful smile.

"I'm here because I never thought I loved my family this much, I mean, I yelled and screamed that I hated them along with a few other things before I left."

A snowball is growing in my throat while I continue talking. I try to swallow it between pauses and keep smiling to the camera.

"I'm here to make others' dreams come true. Hell, it was one of mine when I was ten years old."

A warm tear escapes my left eye and I quickly wipe it away. My eyes and nose won't stop leaking.

"I'm here to make sure that people know the difference between wanting to escape and needing to escape."

The snowball is only growing bigger and my sleeve is damp with tears and snot. My voice is barely above a whisper, but in my ears it's screaming. The flood gates behind my eyes fall apart as I go into full out sobbing. I don't finish my last statement until my eyes are dreadfully dry and the snowball is replaced with sand.

"I-I'm here…to make sure- hic- no one makes my mi-mistake."

I practically slap the camera to make it shut off while wiping my nose for the last time for today. The skin around my mouth tightens when I smile and it threatens to crack after soft, raspy laughter erupts from my throat.

That should do it.

I flop onto the bed and start drooling as I sleep. They think they've won.

So...I'm starting off with my second addiction, Tales of Symphonia simply because the first will be affected by what I do here. As usual for any self insert, nickname/fake name will be used. Also a question, should a disclaimer be used even if there's no mention of any fandom? Any critism would be appreciated and if you just want to review to review, go nuts.

On the note of showers: All of that? True to every word and if I could sit in the shower all day without turning into a prune or running up the bill, I would.