It was yet another day in the Locker of Losers.
They might've had a reason to live before they all wound up here; something that drove them to do whatever they did, go wherever they felt like it, up until they got thrown in here on that fateful day. Surely, *surely*, they all had lives prior to this. Before the Battle for Dream Island. *Right*? Surely, that must be true. Even if they didn't have much to look forward to, even if they just languished somewhere miserable for days, weeks, months, and years. There had to be *something* that they got up to prior to them getting tossed into this blender of agony and misery. Something to look back on, something to look forward to, *anything* to distract themselves from the fact that they've been stuck in this metal box for years and years, with absolutely no refuge and respite from the dull monotony of existence.
But really, *really*, did any of that really matter? They might have been better off in their previous life, or maybe it could've been worse. Maybe it was exactly the same, in terms of emotions felt, thoughts provoked, and so on. All of it seemed irrelevant in the end anyway. All their diverse paths in life, all the choices they've made from start to finish, *everything* they did in their own accord, their own volition, all of it, in the end, caused them to wind up here: the same old metal box, trapped with *these* fools. Didn't matter if you were good or bad, rich or poor, whatever or something else. They were, at the end of day, all sardines stuck inside the Locker of Losers. The big box to end all big boxes. The land of infinite torment and agony. The LOL. What a sick joke, really.
With absolutely nothing to distract themselves from the pain of living, the inmates were left with no choice to but to endure the worst thing of all: interacting with *others*. Not a single other thing was placed in the box besides those poor, wayward souls; legends speak of a large amount of bread that was thrown in some time ago, but what little remained (relatively speaking) was so moldy and atrocious that they'd *really* rather not think about it. There was nothing to occupy them but them, themselves, and their thoughts. Unless you were one of the exceptional few that could fly, you didn't have much room to even stand, and even those that could take flight were still mildly inconvenienced. The gray walls stirred absolutely nothing in the imagination, providing absolutely no entertainment other than *maybe* using your eyes to trace the edges, bouncing from one corner to the next, passing the time in the slowest, most horrific way imaginable.
Who wants to talk to *strangers*, after all? Sure, they might share the same circumstances, but those circumstances *sucked*. Everyone pushed and nudged each other on the regular, and so it didn't take much time at all until someone had something to complain about somebody else. Even though they've barely exchanged any words, the tension in the air was very much present. It became *especially* pronounced after the second season began; a *very* lucky few were able to make their great escape through the capricious voters, while a *very* unlucky few would end up here after having a... *mediocre* outing in the previous competition. There'd be much jealousy and anger towards those that broke free, while the smugness of the earlier competitors resulted in yet more conflict and arguing amongst the prisoners. Under no circumstances did *anyone* want to talk to each other, ever.
But time continued to pass, the years continued to go by, and there were *still* no opportunities for them to break out. Sometimes, they'd get a small thing thrown their way to break up the sheer and utter boredom of it all; they got a brief stint as hosts, but that devolved into a big brawl over who got to have their five seconds holding the reins. With each passing moment, those glorious days of being able to feel *anything* but cold metal grew farther away, and the time spent in this horrible prison grew longer. At the end of the day, despite *everything*, they simply had no choice. They just *had* to talk to others, try to talk or think about *anything* that'd make their stay in this cramped confined cell a little more bearable.
