Series X - Entry 3250 - WTT&TA

I want out. It's been a full year since they put me in this cage. This "prison" of sorts. 

It's just an empty white room. No doors, except for one that they've hidden and can only be accessed by THEM, and no windows. Simply a lightbulb, a white room, and a sharpie. It's hard to use it when you're a shadow that can only become real for an hour, after an hour. 

I'm the shadow of a Faunie James, age 17, height 5'4. I still wear the same sweatshirt and ripped jeans that I wore when I escaped from her. When I was finally free, when I didn't have to deal with all of the pain. ...You see, shadows feel all the pain you do. Wether it be physical or emotional pain, we still feel it. We watch as your tears fall, as another shadow watches as its person yells at your own person in complete horror, like it saw this all the time but couldn't stop it, and no matter what, couldn't get used to it. We see you when you're getting blood drawn, or surgery, or finding ways to end it all. We try to say something, but we're only shadows. Light bouncing off of things. Shadows can't say anything.

..but we can write.

I'm a special shadow. About half a year ago I was given this notebook and have since already discovered things about it. The main 2 things are that the sharpie doesn't bleed through the paper, and the paper is infinite. That means whenever I get the chance to become real for that hour, I write in the notebook about my thoughts. Things I remember from when I was out in the real world. The reason I'm here is because I accidentally became real and was found out immediately after, so, since real shadows are illegal nowadays due to the fear that they'll kill their people, they've locked me up along with countless others, ones that I can't see of course. I wish I could though. 

Shadows turn real by simply thinking about it, when the 1 hour cooldown is over. We normally do it when you're in a dark room, when it's raining, or when it's cloudy, things of that nature. We can go chat with other shadows briefly, with the little sign language we know from birth. The moment you step out of the light is the moment we're not real anymore. We're just a dark shadowy thing always following you, changing height based on the time of day.

I don't want to go back to Faunie. I want to stay here. It's nice and quiet. No more watching a rope being tied into a lasso and being set on a chair beneath a hook in the ceiling. No more scissors on arms. No more bleeding. No more death notes. No more pain. Here, it's just empty. Nothing to do other than use the sharpie to draw on the wall. I mean, yes, the sharpie wipes off, but it gets boring after a while. I heard from one of THEM that one shadow drew their person's bedroom with the sharpie and refuses to let anyone touch the drawing. Sounds insane.

Well, my time is running out, I think. I gotta go. Oh, and by the way, if you want to know what THEM is, it stands for The Hig