| Caged Insanity Leigh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . |
| I sit here in the drak, dank prison of my so-called insanity, reflecting upon the many mistakes I made to come this far...I subject myselft to this cell. So many idiotic things I did, not even aware that they were terrorizing the minds of others. I never meant for it to go this far, for so many people to die. When I killed them, I felt no remorse, no feeling whatsoever over the rush of adrenaline pumping through my bodiy as I plunged that deadly instrument of metal into the warm flesh. The blood still spills over my hands--they are stained, forever. This place's stench no longer makes me cringe; I've been stuck here so long. I thank that my reputation for insanity will never get me a cellmate. It would be too much to handle. The pressure of controlling myself, controlling my desire to kill, annihilate--destroy another soul--would be too great. I have no will power. I lost it a long time ago, when I first killed the Deputy Mayor of Sunnydale. The minute the blood poured from the open wound I had created. It was an accident, true, but a disgusting, crude accident that should never have been repeated. Yet I repeated the "accident"--many times, and I felt no remorse. Why should I have? Remorse is for humans--beings with a soul. I have never been such a being--I'm a monster. The ironic thing is, it's not something I'm afraid of anymore. The thing I'm afraid of now is what I will become in this place--where I have no power, no adrenaline...no mind. A lot of people like to say I'm sick; it doesn't bother me--I know they just say that because they are trying to hide the disgusting, perverse feelings inside themselves--the same things I feel every day. It's like it's always been--everyone blaming me. I know I've made my mistakes, but haven't they? Especially Angel. He's made too many mistakes too count. So I thought he could forgive me--trust me. Instead he just brought me to this place, knowing I would do the "right" thing. At least it was right in his eyes. I hate it here, not like I shouldn't, but I can't live here anymore. I miss the adrenaline pumping through my veins, the rugged feel of a cold dagger in my hand, and the feeling of my palms sweating from the rush of power I feel. I'm trapped--trapped inside my own damn mind. I have to get out of here. I have to live. |
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