Death is always the moral question in mind, always the thing in the back of your head telling you that what you're doing is stupid.

Oddly enough, it seems to be the only thing I don't mind. Being one of the potentials means that you know you're going to die. But it also means that you're death is going to mean something.

That knowledge used to make a difference, used to mean something, used to bring me comfort in battle whenever I was outnumbered.

The idea never occurred to me until Chloe. But now it all seems so futile. When Buffy called her a coward, I wanted to kill her. How dare she? Chloe was braver then me. I couldn't even bring myself to steal the knife from the chest in Buffy's room until tonight. From what Willow's told me, it used to be Faith's. It's got a wicked design on the handle, and is sharper then I expected, considering it's been sitting there for more then three years.

I can't let myself to be too scared to do this by myself. I have to. I finally have realized how hopeless it all is. Why should I have to live a nightmare only to die a horrible death in, most likely less then two years from now?

My hands are shaking, maybe I'll use the drugs I got that chick Dawn to score for me. It'll probably help numb my senses.

Hopeless. hating. wanting. feeling. soulless. angry. greedy. grieving.

Why the fuck is it so hard? Can't I do anything right? Why in hell can't I do this? What's wrong with this knife?