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The Journals of Barnabas Collins

Today, I once again exercised my will.  It has been as if I’d grown up believing that I had but one arm.  The use of the second is something that has reflexively been triggered and reflexively used.

In this instance, it was the mental torture of the good Rev. Trask in exchange for arranging the execution of Miss Winters.  His fears were so obvious.  The hallucinations as easy to create as fogged breath on chill morning.

I remain shocked by my well of anger.  Others experience vindictive attacks and lose loved ones, but do not walk the path as do I.  Has this rage always been there?  Is it an effect of my condition?  I never recall being this bloodthirsty as a man, but if I were, why?

BC

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