Diclaimer: Despite my fondness for this particular redhead (you better know who I'm talking about, or it'd be kinda sad) I do not happen to own him. Poor me.
A/N: Did I just pop off another Gaara fic? Wow.
(In)sanity and Neglect.
Neglect was a bitch, and he knew it better than anyone else.
The scars on his psyche from when he was a child hadn't healed much. He remembered their cold expressions-
The ice that had frozen him over, that slowly took his mind and thoughts and emotions-
(The laughter in his head.)
He wasn't sure, back when he was five, who was (laughing)-
But he didn't care.
(It was laughing at the people, not him.)
Not a single one of those damnable people had thought to smile at him, or to hug him.
Hell, he still didn't know what a hug felt like-
So time passed, and the neglect became (pressure).
They wanted a weapon, because they were weak.
Weakness was a thing to be (eliminated).
The (eager rush) of bloodlust that pounded through his head, (clouding his judgement)-
(He could hear it laugh again).
He doubted his own sanity.
(Was there such a thing?)
Perhaps he was dreaming.
(Yes, perhaps he was.)