Becka's Point of Veiw
Every night, she talks to me. She lives through me, taking advantage of my fragile condition. I can't comprehend the simple things of life anymore. I can barely comprehend holding a spoon to my lips and feeding myself to stay alive. Fear and paranoia is all I know, but she is, at the same time, the most extraordinary person I have ever known.

Of course, Samara is misunderstood by most, but we have a certain understanding with each other. A common bond, if you will. She tells me I could speak for her. I could be her eyes and she could be my mind. This suggestion terrifies and excites me at the same time, but also leaves me numb. As I said, fear and paranoia are all I know. I always did wonder what went on in the mind of a mentally unstable person, and perhaps now I know. Perhaps this is what it is like, or perhaps there is still a chance for me. Perhaps she is just keeping me in this state of mind where I am weak and impressionable, like a small child. I now accept many things that I would not in my right state of mind, such as death caused by a videotape. I also understand how that videotape was made, though it would be much too hard to explain it to you. You see, you do not share the common bond. Your mind, though more advanced than mine, could not comprehend such things. There is none other alive that can, but her.

I suppose that brings me to where I am now, standing before the very well that brought Samara to her physical end. An end that she met by the hands of her own mother, driving her mind further away from the socially acceptable thoughts of humanity. I am not sure how I got here. I am not sure if I am alive. I sense foreboding as my hands instinctively reach out and grip the cold stone. As I touch it, I can feel Samara's thoughts the many times she climbed from this well to meet her pray. I lean slowly over the well, peering down into it's depths.

"Do you think I am still down there after all this time?" comes a voice from behind me. Just by Samara's tone I can tell that she fell from the ledge of sanity long ago, and this frightens me. The fear lets me know that I am not just like her. Not yet.

I spin around to face her. Her face is a sight for sore eyes, for my eyes do hurt just to look at her. I gulp and stare at my feet.

"This place does not exist," she says in a filthy monotone of insanity. "I have put you here because you can understand things when they have surroundings. You remember this, don't you Becka?" The sound of my name on her lips makes a dry sob escape from my chest. "Of course you do." She turns and begins to walk away.

"Wait!" I call helplessly. "Where am I?"

I hear her turn around, here the gentle swoosh of her black hair, draped down the sides of her face like dark trails of blood. "I told you" she says, "I brought you here because you can understand it. You are in my mind."

I shudder and feel another sob threatening to surface. My mind cannot comprehend this, as I'm sure yours cannot either. You don't know her. To be inside her mind is to have already died inside with no hope left for you. I am damned. This time she turns to walk away and I let here, standing in silent shock. I would have chosen hell over this blind fear.

I never did explain why I was brought here, or why I think I was at least. A copy of the tape can save you, she once told me. I didn't understand how. In fact, I don't believe anyone does. I just know it is that way, and that she knows. That is what Samara wishes. The death of Rachel and her son Ayden, because they know. They have taken the powers of the tape into their own hands, and this does not please Samara, and when she is not pleased watching the tape is not the only way to die.