A/N: First order of business is, as usual, to apologize for the delay. I was planning to write more, but I spent a lot of time just resting and then I got into a car accident. And then I had major writer's block. So this isn't an actual chapter. Sorry. But it will come ...sometime...

What this is: I reread Twilight a couple of days ago, and got a more realistic idea of Alice in the mental institution. This is an alternate beginning to this story. It doesn't really matter whether or not you read it, the plot of Insanity from here on out remains the same.

Have a piece of angst for Christmas dinner!

It's dark. So dark. You lose yourself in it. I don't know who I am in the dark. Where I am in the dark.

Sometimes it hurts. But it's still dark. It hurts until the gray cloud comes and takes me away from the pain.

But then the dark comes back. And the noises in the dark. Screams. Cries. Sometimes I think they are from me. Who is me? I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. With the dark there is no room for me in my head.

I can't give up. I can't die. I try. They make the pain come back. Bad enough but not enough for my gray relief.

Sometimes there are pictures in the dark. Pictures of a man blond and dangerous sitting at a fountain. He is waiting for me. I want to tell him no I can't come but the pictures goes away and I can't reach him anymore. There are pictures of a girl with short black hair. She laughs a lot. I don't know what it feels like to laugh. A man ordinary but pale as death is looking for me. He wants to kill me. I hope he hurries up.

And the stories. At night they come. Stories of adventure. Frontiers. New things. In the stories there is also day as well as night. They lie. I don't like the stories. Always they are over but I am still in the dark. The dark is worse after the stories. I want them to go away. I need them. My stories. The stories come on a soft tenor voice.

The voice comes but the stories don't. The voice says. I have no choice. I want you. Sorry for the hurt.

The hurt. Pain. Fire. Worse. No gray to save me. Pain. Burning. Rearranging. Making me not me. Why won't I just die?