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).

Destroyed.

The (eager rush) of bloodlust that pounded through his head, (clouding his judgement)-

They screamed.

He remembered.

(He could hear it laugh again).

He doubted his own sanity.

(Was there such a thing?)

Perhaps he was dreaming.

(Yes, perhaps he was.)