A/N: Second fanfic! Yayness! Thank you for all who reviewed on the first one. This one I hope holds your attention just as much, and you like it equally. Any questions, please ask, I love feedback! Enjoy!
(and may I say, Revenge of the Sith is going to KICK ASS!)

Disclaimer : I own nothing.

You Bleed Just To Know Your Alive

By: AmeCassee

It no longer looked liked a human hand. Like the rest of his skin it was white from the lack of sun, and weakened from his…dependant state. There was another change however, one that even he could not deny seemed to grow with the years. A scar, long and thin raked his hand. Not deep enough to do any damage, but deep enough to draw blood.

He skimmed his gloved hand over one of the hideous pieces of skin. You would not think it was alive, merely an attachment grown old that the owner was to fond of to throw away. The skin held no warmth to it, and it was no longer smooth to the touch. He shuddered as he touched the sensitive flesh, some of his last.

He remembered when he had seen the suit on himself for the first time. The mirror reflected a sinister thing. It was no human that stared back at him through hollow back eyes, it was no man, it was a machine. He had that mirror destroyed. His room always reflected his mood, dark and imprisoning. He rarely used the lights anymore, for he never wanted to see what he had become. When he ate it was in darkness, when he had to have the droids bath him and help him get ready, he refused to have the lights on. His image had reflected in the droids metallic body once. That droid remained still in the corner where he had left it, in pieces.

His physical actions were limited, he would be a fool to have thought otherwise. He was not the…man he once was. His mind however had grown strong. The powers of the dark side surrounded him, becoming one with his flesh and blood as they weaved themselves in the deep recesses of his mind. He would always dig deeper and deeper becoming drunk on the dark strength. He knew he could never go back.

It was by sheer accident that he cut his palm. The droid was just asking to be destroyed, and for some reason he found his fist flying, crashing into the side of the droid and silencing it for the rest of its pitiful existence. He never knew he was bleeding till he saw the deep red, pooling out of the torn flesh and slowly dripping to the floor. He stared at it in fascination. It had been a long time since he had seem the color red, but like the rest of his dark world, it seemed almost black.

The cut on his hand never hurt, never stung him. The lava had basically wiped out the nerve endings in his body, but how it had felt! To bleed, and if even for a second before he had squashed the feeling like an annoying insect, to feel human, to feel alive. He never cut his hand, but he refused to let the would heal properly, leaving a long thin scar. It somehow brought peace to his troubled mind like a child's nightlight that protected them as they slept.

He knew it was silly, and he sometimes would punish himself for his stupidity. Relishing over a scar. It was not a battle wound or a mark that would remind him of some great service. It was a simple little thing, but it brought him such peace sometimes he would question his own sanity. In a corner of his mind however, where he pulled all those thoughts he never wanted to forget, yet never could let go off, he found a simple solution. It was sad to think about, and he would almost immediately push the thought of his head. It was when he breathed, and the deep sound filled the room, or when he looked to himself and saw only the cursed suit he was forced to wear. It was when he thought of how machine he felt, how dead he seemed. It was then this thought came to mind, and he was not so quick to push it away. For you bleed just to know your alive.