The Mandela Catalog: Lost Tapes

The crackle of a campfire and the gentle strumming of a guitar fill the air. You, Y/N, sit in a lawn chair in the middle of the forest, tuning your guitar, the sounds of the night around you. Frustrated by your progress, you finally nail a chord and smile at the camera, beginning to play a small tune.

"Looks like this is the first tape of my little blog... It's more like my journal, but I could sell these when I become famous..." you say, laughing softly. "I guess I should introduce myself if this is going to be my story to show when I get famous and get fucking rich..."

You put down your guitar and look into the camera, your E/C eyes shining with hope.

"My name is Y/N, I'm (insert your age here), and I want to help people around me so that hopefully, one day, someone will help me..."

You continue to speak, sharing your thoughts about finding a place where you belong, before being interrupted by the loud buzzing of your flip phone. Picking it up, you answer the call, your expression shifting to confusion and then shock as you listen to the person on the other end. The forest falls silent, and you drop your phone, your breath coming in rapid gasps as you turn and grab the camera, the image blurring.