Hysteria.

hysteria hys·ter·i·a (hĭ-stěr'ē-ə, -stēr'-)

n.

1. Excessive or uncontrollable emotion, such as fear.

Is that why I thrive on the concept?

Fear is a chemical at which is only derived from the mind.

Maybe the heart.

But pointless, nonetheless. Which is why as I feel your pure, unmasked terror, I feel no need for remorse whatsoever. Your fear is strictly your choice.

Consent was involved, if you must.

I can make the beads of sweat trickle down your succulent, unprotected skin with the appearance of my teeth, the tremors of your limbs will be apparent with a glimpse of my nails.

Your blood-curling screams of terror will melt the matter of your mind with the sight of my demented, bloodthirsty eyes.

And as you lie there, taking your last, unnecessary breath, my cackle will ring in the distance.

"Why so serious?"

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Drip.

I fidgeted. The annoying sound only adding fuel to my fire that is anxiety. The paranoia consuming my every thought, movement... word.

Footsteps.

My heart jolts, altering to match the rapid tempo of the unmistakable sound of leather against concrete.

Is it time? I ask in fear. Are they here to take me?

For a crime that I know not, the consequences are dire. My pleading, expressively, was not adequate. The truth in my eyes, ignored. My oath, disregarded.

The clank of a key inserted into its one match: the lock.

The lock to my cell. The answer to my questions.

The end to my beginning.

The command was deep, and rich with authority.

Yet my ears heard not.

The sound of my last words would forever ring in my skull. Perished or breathing; forever.

Sat on a block that was a symbol of pain. A leather crown upon my head.

And a charge through my veins. And my eyes would now close, never to be opened again.

And still, in the distance, though my eyes were closed and my heart had stopped, the anxious sound continued on, not fazed by the absence of a host.

Drip. Drip. Drip.Drip.