Disclaimer: Last night, Butch Hartman handed me over the legal rights to Danny Phantom, and then I signed a contract with Nickelodeon for the next four seasons - which are all ready to go - to air. But alas, it was only a dream. (Just kidding. Last night's dream was about roller coasters and chemistry class).

-MY STORY-

Okay, so yesterday was one of those days - the kind where everything seems boring, no matter what happens. An alien could fall from the sky or you could have a totally fun lunch, or you could meet your idol or just have a good class period and you would STILL think that the day was boring, and as a result, be all depressed.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about--you are lucky. So, I had a day like that yesterday, and since after school I wasn't busy, I thought I'd hop on the computer for awhile. But WMM wasn't working, so no video progress. So I updated my other story and, right after a new chapter was added...BAM! My internet goes down before I could update this one.

Basically, sorry for keeping you guys waiting. It makes me sad. :(

And sorry for the long note. But thanks for the reviews/adds/favorites!

Chapter Three

I was just getting back in from a stroll around the grounds with Danny, humming a good song I'd heard on the radio that morning, when I suddenly noticed how silent it was. Everyone in the halls was avoiding eye contact with me, too, which could only mean one thing...

Our room was crowded, I could tell from the sounds coming from it, all of the buzzing. It was about me, I knew. Call me paranoid, but sure enough, the minute I stepped into our room, everyone stopped talking, lowering their eyes until all you could see were eyelashes - thick and thin, black and brown and blond and red, no eyes in sight. Except for one pair - steel-gray and cold.

"What is this?" Nurse Erika purred, holding up a bulging notebook. She was standing right next to my bed, and I knew, even before I could read the writing on the cover, that the notebook she was holding was mine.

"My...notebook," I muttered, praying she hadn't looked in it.

The nurse's eyebrows shot up. "Yes, indeed. A notebook," she declared loudly, holding it up high for discretion, "a forbidden item! And non-regulation pencils, a sharpener, and even," her voice dropped in volume, but rose in pitch, "a deadly eraser!"

Shocked gasps echoed around the room, as eyes were slowly raised.

"Weapons," the nurse snarled, "and that's not all. Has anyone seen the inside?"

My eyes darted around the room, but everyone stayed still. Kates avoided my eyes, pretending to be intently involved in scrutinizing her pillow.

"Well, the inside is no better," Nurse Erika trilled, "our friend Samantha here believes she is quite the artist!" Quickly, she snapped open the notebook, loose papers flying everywhere. Dozens of startling green eyes rained down, silver emblems flashing. "This," she sneered, grabbing a fistful of pages - crumpling them, my precious work, "is garbage. Pictures of the same 'person', if you call it that. My dear Samantha, people do not have this shade of green eye color or have glowing orbs for hands."

I didn't even protest, my mouth stayed clamped shut in a tight, thin line, even though she was getting everything wrong. Oh, because they did, they did have those eyes, and those weren't hands...they were...they were...

"Nothing to say, then? No defense, no excuses? You have learned well, girl, but still - pack your bags. It will be the isolation chamber for you, it will. And these," she brandished my art, "will be confiscated, along with your cursed tools. They only help you along to insanity, and we only do this to protect you. Now, come along. I will supervise your packing."

And she did. She watched as I packed every stitch of clothing I owned and the necessities - toiletries, spare clothes, a towel, a robe, a single sheet, and an old flattened pillow. "Alright then, bid your friends goodbye, Samantha."

"Bye," I murmured, glancing up only briefly as the whole room mirrored my movements - brisk waves, forced smiles, whispered goodbyes.

--DP--

Isolation isn't so bad. I know it sounds like ancient torture - an 'isolation chamber'? But that's just Nurse Erika. Everyone else calls it "isolation" or sometimes even "vacation". A room to yourself, a little privacy, and some peace and quiet. And what do you pay? Just sleeping on the floor, but they do escort you to the bathroom and you can go whenever you want, it's just that you're watched closely. And they'll even let you take a quick shower, every two days, if you're going to be in there for awhile. And I would - possession of an illegal item cost you at least a week, maybe two at most. It all depends on if you're good. And everyone gets meals - a bowl of thick, sometimes burnt, oatmeal in the morning and a bowl of watery soup in the evening.

"Shower!" The isolation nurse, Mrs. Carter, barked, with all the air of a drill sergeant. "Samantha, bathroom now!"

Isolation sounds bad, yes, but it's really not. I know that makes me sound like a basket-case. Have they brainwashed you yet, Sam? Do you also think straitjackets are well and good? Aren't you glad they "saved" you, before you stabbed someone to death with that eraser? Aren't you glad that they saved you from your biggest enemy, yourself?

I don't believe any of that stuff. I don't take everything that they try to force-feed us in our monthly "group sessions" (aka torture). But I don't think isolation's that bad. It can seem like a prison, but I live in an institution. My home is a prison.

Again, talk to me! Pretend I'm in the middle of a desert, starved for human contact, and only you the reader, can save me with your words. NOW ACCEPTING ANONYMOUS REVIEWS! (I think. PLEASE tell me if it isn't working. I never even meant to disable it in the first place because, I admit, sometimes I'm too lazy to log in and it's just easier to review anonymously sometimes...but anyway, I just found out it was disabled today, haha.)

End thoughts: Hmm. It is a little hard to imagine myself starved for human contact when I can hear my mom yapping away downstairs. Blah blah blahity blah blah blah (-- that's probably what my super-long notes look like to you, though, so I should probably stop talking now).