Disclaimer: Characters and story belong to Wendy Raimi. No part of this story or the characters may be used or archived without the author's permission.

Warning: Rated PG for language and situation.

    Viola sighed as she curled up into her bed. Another dark and dank day. Another day where she was sure she couldn't get out of bed.  Everyone that knew her was sure she had depression and probably a severe kind at that.  Viola had been to doctors all over, and they had all told her the same thing.  She's just a teenager and it was just hormones.  But hormones never did things as major as never wanting to leave the house.

    And so, Viola stayed curled up in bed, praying to whatever god would listen that the night would come soon.   Viola was a night person.  She loved the night and all that went with it.  The late night movies, the talk shows.  All of the shows that had the

racy and foul language that they would never show in the regular day time.  At night she could do whatever she liked.  She could delve into her insanity with no problems at all.  And that was another problem with Viola.  She truly believed she was insane.  She knew she was insane since practically day one.  It was in her blood, it was who she was.  She could identify with anyone that was always oppressed, or insane.  They were her people. They were who she was.  Viola sighed as she closed her eyes and imagined Norman Bates holding her tight.  Perhaps she had seen the Psycho movies one too many times, but she could imagine Norman, in his suit holding her tightly as they lay on a motel bed.  Too afraid to kiss, too afraid to go any farther, they would lay there and hold each other tight, there heads over the other's shoulders, hoping that their own troubles would pass. Finding a solace only in each other.  But unlike Maureen, Viola swore she would never leave Norman. Not now and not ever. But as Viola slowly opened her eyes, she realized there was no Norman Bates holding her tight inside a motel room.  There was only herself lying on her eggplant bed sheets praying she was someone, anyone, than herself.   Viola never liked herself. She never liked_well, anyone.  And more or less likely, Viola found she was never quite right with anything.  Whenever she spoke, no one understood her. And whenever anyone spoke to her, she never understood them either.  She was alone in a silent world, and yet everyone was always so darn noisy! Out of all the things Viola hated, it was the noise. The horrible noise that everyone was always_talking, always singing, talking, and loudly. Viola hated loud. Loud was probably the most annoying thing ever.

    Viola sighed once again.  She was alone, and destined to be alone forever. Especially when boyfriends always broke up with you because you were too quirky and obsessive.  She began to cry, softly at first and then gradually louder.

"God dammnit!" she screamed. Her anger coming out in that soul and only word. And she knew as she thought about writing up her words, her thoughts and giving it to someone, that wouldn't like it, or even read it.  Even for other people, her chastity was defyingly evil.