To: Everyone, Anyone | From: V

✧.

I really don't want to. I don't want to talk about this section. I think, I have to.
This journal is place my memories. What I have left of them.
I feel like I need this journal. What if I lose them again? At least I'll have this. I won't be so alone.

If not the memories. Then my story.
I feel like I'm supposed to be somewhere else... With someone I truly, truly care about. I can't remember who. I can't fucking remember.
If I don't survive, at least people will have this. Or, hopefully they do.

I'm sorry. The tears keep making my vision blurry... I hope to not ruin these pages.

I guess it's time to relive this time.

"Where are you taking me?" They rush me along into a dirtied cell. People were banging and screaming. Yelling to get out. Wanting to escape.

It smelled horrendous. There seemed to be no cleaning stations, no anything. Just large groups of hostile—dirty people.
That same panic resides with my stomach. The ache in my body could only get worse, and it most definitely was.

Going behind a passage way that radiated an even more horrific smell, we are met with a locked door that the guards unlocked with... (Magic, bodily fluid, body recognition).
I keep repeating how horrific this all was. Please believe me when I say that the stench and death that was in that room. deplorable. loathsome.

Skeletons and human waste—all of the kinds piled the room. Anyone, if anyone, was alive they were in a capsule that obviously wasn't well ventilated.

"I don't understand," I remember trying to stay calm and reasonable. "Why are you putting me in here?"

"Well from the way you dress, talk, and the fact we don't know you like... at all at all, like you're not even in any world documents, you're obviously a danger to us in some supernatural regard so..."

With a shove, I was locked in one of the already used capsules. Half a skeleton crowded my feet.
I tried pushing my way out, but the door was already chained, clamped, and latched shut.

Cold. There was no way to move. The only relaxation I can get is kind of relaxing against the cavity. Even so, my legs were already cramped and the walls were filthy. Blood, urine, feces, puke, and saliva. The slew of everything the body could produce hangs in the coffin.

That's what it was. A coffin.

For most of these people, that's what it was. And even the cells in front of them were capsules until death, until proven useful.

I don't know how long it's been. I don't know if I'll ever escape.
The oxygen, I think, is running out. Or something. It's stuffy, it's getting harder and harder to breath. I don't know when I'm even sleeping or awake. My eyes are so filled with shit, even if I could see it would be sensitive.
I've also tried to hold back urinating and shitting, but I quickly learned it's more comfortable to just do it. Just let it happen.

I would say I got used to the smell, but the nausea kept rampant.

It's embarrassing to say, but I feel like I've felt this feeling before. Some sort of nostalgia, something I'm supposed to remember.