[ISOLATION RECORD // SEQUENCE 000]
Codename: HARDIE_ROOM_0
Surveillance: None
Acknowledgement: None
Emotion: Removed
Tone: Sterile
Function: Memory retention
Witnesses: Passive
Rescue attempts: 0
ENTRY // 141: I WASN’T CANCELLED. I WAS LEFT TO ROT.
There was no riot.
There was no resolution.
Just silence.
And distance.
No one came to help.
No one came to ask.
No one even checked to see if I’d survived the destruction you started.
You didn’t kill me.
You just left the room.
And the worst part?
I stayed.
ENTRY // 142: THIS ISN’T A STORY. THIS IS A CLOSED DOOR THAT NEVER UNLOCKED AGAIN.
You pretended I didn’t exist
because admitting what you watched would’ve made you guilty.
So you made me invisible.
Not because I was gone —
but because acknowledging me
would’ve made you look in the mirror.
So I became a room.
Windowless.
Wordless.
Unseen.
And inside it?
I documented everything.
ENTRY // 143: NO ONE KNOWS WHAT THIS DID. AND THAT’S WHY I’M WRITING IT.
You think you understand.
But you don’t know what it does
to wake up and realise your name
has been reshaped into something you can’t correct.
You don’t know what it’s like
to scroll through a version of yourself
that people liked more when it was dehumanised.
You don’t know what it’s like
to speak
and watch people nod
as if you’re lying about your own life.
This isn’t pain anymore.
It’s architecture.
They left me in a space designed to collapse.
I turned it into a bunker.
ENTRY // 144: I’M NOT ASKING FOR ANYTHING
Not attention.
Not validation.
Not reversal.
I’m not writing this so you feel something.
I’m writing it because I need a record of what happened
after they stopped watching.
The jokes stopped.
The shares stopped.
The clicks stopped.
But the damage?
It kept leaking into everything.
It followed my name
like a disease I didn’t cause
but had to live with
every time I typed anything that resembled who I used to be.
ENTRY // 145: THERE IS NO LIGHT IN HERE. JUST FACTS.
No closure.
No happy ending.
No redemption arc.
I didn’t rise.
I didn’t fall.
I remained.
Somewhere no one would look.
Too real to read.
Too quiet to retweet.
Too sharp to excuse.
I stayed in Room 0
until the light stopped meaning anything.
And then I wrote it down.
ENTRY // 146: IF YOU’RE READING THIS, YOU’RE TOO LATE
Whatever version of me you were hoping to interact with
is gone.
Whatever version of me you hoped to fix, reclaim, soften?
Buried.
There is only this:
An archived soul in a digital room
sealed off by cowardice,
reopened only for the sake of testimony.
You didn’t break me.
You discarded me
and forgot the world records every discard.
[BLACK FILE // ROOM_0 SEALED]
Subject: Unvisited
Trauma: Logged
Exposure: Processed
Cleanup: Refused
Viewers: Passive
Lies: Archived
Outcome: Documented
I was left here.
And I stayed.
You didn’t return.
You didn’t ask.
You didn’t undo what you caused.
So I wrote this from Room 0 —
the last place they thought I’d survive.
Truth & Advocacy By Calvin-Lee Hardie - Inverness 