Prologue: SeocMature

A mysterious individual with many hats and equally many disguises shows up at a mental institution, offering (with no apparent motive for doing so) two inpatients a chance of escape.

My name is Seoc.  I am fifteen years old and I reside almost exclusively in my own head.  I have to.  Outside of it, I am little but a short, dirty, emaciated corpse in a windowless tomb.

Please don't accuse me of whining for attention.  I've gotten enough of that--both accusations and attention.  I don't want people to feel sorry for me; I just would prefer it if they would acknowledge my existence as a human being rather than words on a page.  Prodigy.  Epileptic.  Genius.  I despise those descriptors.  If every label thrust upon me over the years was tattooed upon me, well, I'd run out of skin.  Bipolar.  Diminutive.  Weak.  Short-tempered.  Suicidal.  Effeminate.  Abnormal.

I would rather generate my own list.  But at the current moment, I don't know how to describe myself without any of the aforementioned titles and adjectives.  I think I could bear them all if it were not for one additional label, one that actually is tattooed upon me, on my right forearm:

Inpatient 23741

Class C, Hx/B

The End

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