I think it's about time I talk about the thinly-veiled allegory.
DISCLAIMER: ...Except "Bound to a Stream of Consciousness." That's based on a true story. (Spoilers and very sad topics afoot.)
Click this button. Scroll down to "Log Entry #46: Bound to a Stream of Consciousness." Now click this button. Read. Yes, that's me in there. That long-ass, dozens-of-paragraph OP was written by me. It's the first post of thousands.
That's the true story.
It may be surprising, even if the allegory in DCAHall3 is ridiculously thin. The future episodes only made the allegory even thinner, having the Narrator (meeee) refer to himself as "Ulysses" from time to time. Hell, I'll just go out with it.
Ulysses is me, Ness is my older brother, Jim Rennie is my oldest brother, Logic is my mother (I mean, not the Logic, the artist; the allegorical Logic is completely separate), and Captain Curator (the 'narrator') is my father.
I wanted to make DCAHall3 scary. I had about five hours' worth of 'horror' ready, but I still felt like I wasn't gonna scare the reader at all. So one night in my isolation, I put on random EarthBound music and just wrote what came to my mind. As time went on, I found a topic-- my life-- and rolled with it. I wrote what I thought my father was thinking during all those incidents. I told the story of child abuse through the eyes of the abuser. At least, I attempted to.
I know, some of you may be thinking that's really low of me, taking advantage of my own suffering for the sake of writing a good story. Well.. I agree. But at the same time, I think it really came out well.
Oh, and the Gatekeepers? Social services.
DCA729 was written both before and after social services investigated my family. It all changed with one line:
"[However, if you DO trust them, and do as they tell you, even the saddest of hopes may end up bumping right back up.]"
At that point, I had to go to bed. The next day, I woke up, and the social worker arrived at our flat. She investigated, alright. She asked questions, though she had a tendency to speak over me. I told her what I could. It all culminated with six words:
"We can't foster sixteen-year olds."
That night, I wrote more.
"[THEN AGAIN. They mean well, but they still follow the same rules as we do..]
[..and sometimes, those rules just won't let us win.]"
So yeah. That's what happened with that.
..gah, I hate this topic. ._.