What Are You Really Afraid Of?

July 10, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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We all have our own little fears: spiders, dark corridors, porcelain dolls. Some people have some very strange and obscure fears like things not being organized. Some people are afraid of not being perfect or being alone.

But we have to be choosy about the things we decide to fear. Someday, perhaps in our dreams or slowly creeping into reality, those fears will take over our lives.


Spiders will invade your home; they will be in every cabinet, skittering over the walls and crawling over you in your sleep. Their small, beady eyes will stare at you from all of the walls of your home and you will never be able to leave your home again. Soon, all you will be able to see is spiders. All of the pictures on your walls, the windows in your house, the food that you try to eat, will all be covered with the eight legged creatures. Spiders of all sizes and species will crawl along with your every footstep, and some big black ones will jitter into corners when you enter the room. The spiders will nip at you until there is nothing left.


The dark corridor that you walk down every day will never end. As you pass open doors, you will see unspeakable scenes of torture, malice and horror. Dark shadows will follow at your heels and your sides, whispering disturbing things that add to the terror that the dark corridor installs in your very bones. The corridor is a bit warm; perhaps it is heated by the fires that you can see spewing in some of the room. You will never get used to the things you see in the corridor; the things that slither out of the doors and bite at your heels and arms only hasten your pace. If you somehow reach the end without giving into madness, you will be swallowed up by the darkness and thrust into the pits of anguish along with the other who have walked this corridor.
Porcelain dolls. Some choose to admire their perfect white faces; their painted beauty remains eternal. Others cringe when they meet the gaze of their faultless eyes. The crack splitting from the eye to the chin looks like a dark, shattered tear. You break its gaze and look down, but there’s another one. In fact, the room is filled with the dolls in varying sizes and colors. You feel a cool grip on your ankle that makes you jump. One of the dolls has grabbed your ankle. One of the bigger ones on the chair stands up stiffly, walks behind you, and starts to shove you into the room. Your struggling and fighting does nothing. All of the dolls begin to climb off of their chairs and shelves and walk to the center of the room to slowly begin tearing you apart with their small, cool hands, limb by limb, skin and muscle from bone.


Your life will condemned by organizing. You will constantly run around your home, adjusting every detail. The fingers on your hands will be red and raw, occasionally leaving bloodstains on the things that you pass. You’ll have to clean that, too. Nothing will ever be perfect in your eyes. Eventually, you’ll snap. First, you will polish the silverware and place them into neat piles. Then, taking one of the shined spoons, you will gouge out your eyes to save yourself from seeing the rest of the unorganized world. But, realizing that the spoon is now bloodied and the red droplets are beginning to cover the floor, you will begin to feebly attempt to clean the mess.


The room is all mirrors. Your face reflects from every angle. All you do is stare at yourself and try to perfect the reflection you see. You can never get close, though. People have come in and told you that you look beautiful, but you never believe them. Eventually, they stopped coming, but you didn’t care. Now you had more time and fewer distractions to try and make yourself the image that you have always dreamed of. Things like eating don’t matter too much anymore, though you do eat and drink a little bit every now and then so you can survive and continue your ever-present task. One day, though, it becomes too much. You scream your throat raw and claw at your face until your hands and arms are coated in blood and only your skull remains.


The concrete walls are like a jail to you. But they are, in fact, a jail: There are no windows or doors, just an old fashioned lamp dangling from the ceiling. The silence is so loud you feel like screaming to break it, but you can’t. The emptiness paralyzes you. You bury your face in your hands, so you don’t see where they came from. One second, the room is empty, but the next, there are black forms spread throughout the room. The relief that you were expecting didn’t come, only fear. The things open their mouths and begin screaming like you thought about doing. These screams were both human and inhuman, but you don’t care. All you care about is that they’re loud. Really, REALLY loud. They pierce your ears and numb your brains of any thoughts besides the black forms and the screaming. Your ears begin to bleed and you head starts to split as you now wish that you were alone again.


You see? Fears can lead to some horrible things, things you may regret when the time comes when they come for you. Now, REALLY think about it, what are you really afraid of? Because you don’t want it to be something you will repent when your time comes. . .

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July 2, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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The tipper tapper of a finger echoes through the small dark room.
Sometimes even whispers bounce off the walls from other rooms,
whispers that do not make sense to me.
I would hear things like, “Stop it, he’ll see us”
and “Quickly, don’t trust him”
or just the moans of torment and despair.

Living your past over and over again, until your end.
Then you’re back in the white room, and the flashbacks of people’s departure move on to the next dorm. Sometimes a death is so horrific, shrieks of agony seep through the thin layer of walls that separate all of us.

It upsets me sometimes, hearing the pain and sorrow of others, so I block my ears and close my eyes tight so they don’t see me crying. That’s what they want, they laugh at us.
Hysterical laughter echoes round the rooms, like being bullied in a playground, being surrounded by people who laugh at you and pick on you. That’s what it feels like. I’m not going to give them the satisfaction. As the screams get more disturbing and agonized, the hysterical laughter gets louder
and darker.

When a toddler throws a tantrum and you ignore them, you think they would stop, but they don’t,
they try harder and harder until you give in. That is what these sick people do.
Whenever I ignore or try fight my senses and vision not to blur into my past,
they begin to get angry and impatient. You can hear them grunting or sometimes they just go completely quiet. As they do, they try to make your past more enhanced and scary until you give in to their little game.

So let me give you some advice, when you die, calmly walk to the light in front of you.
Don’t stop, even if you get weak or weary, do not stop until you reach the light.
Ignore the person breathing down your neck, persuading you to turn back.
No matter how much he sounds like your dead father.
Ignore him.


Credit To – JJ Wilton

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Object Permanence

June 30, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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Lately I have been questioning the reality of things around me.

I can sure identify where it started, and where it came from, but I just can’t get it out. An idea cannot be killed; you may try to not think about it or distract yourself, but it is there, and it will always be there. Now, if you would like to hear a bit about me, just sit tight for a brief prelude. At a young age, I was like any other normal boy, except for one little hindrance. I grew up, attended school, went to college, and graduated, all with good, if not exceptional grades. I swam, participated in clubs, you name it. I used to be a very active and healthy guy. The ’hindrance’ grew with me. The doctors call it myopia, the kids at school call it glasses, I call it bad luck and genetics.

Well, whatever you call it, I was stuck with it, and it stuck with me. It started with a slight blurriness, then became a wall of impassibility. Surgery helped me slightly, but in the long run, just prolonged my fate.

Eventually I had the misfortune of coming down with eye cataracts. The surgery this time was damning. Retinal detachment, occurring when the retina literally detaches itself from the eye, can lead from severe myopia to blindness. In my case, it led to blindness at the age of 18.

Now, blindness meant several things to me. A dark point in my life, both literally and figuratively. I imagined that I was in a hole, a black place where no light shined. I existed there alone, in pure isolation. Sure, they could peer down into the hole and talk from their bright place above me, but they could not see. They could pretend, but they couldn’t comprehend what I was going through. I used to drink heavily and experiment with substances in order to dampen my perception.

When you have that much detachment from the outside world, you begin to think.

Imagine you are in a room. There is a ball in the room. You look at it, and it is red, hard to the touch, and bounces with a satisfying thud. Now if you leave it placed down on the floor, and walk out of the room, facing the opposite direction, you cannot see, hear or touch it anymore.

What evidence do you have that it still exists?

Infants go through this in their lives, due to their pre-developed minds. I am sure we are all familiar with the game of ‘peek-a-boo’? Well, when the child see’s its mother, it is aware it exists, but when the hands come down, where did mother go? She disappeared, and because the baby cannot perceive her, it firmly believes that she does not exist.

Now apply this concept to us. Growing up, our brain develops, and we innately know that an object continues to exist. It is something we learn to accept. However, when you are alone in your room at night, the world outside does not matter. We are secluded in our own little world, and only the immediate area is tangible. Now imagine that the darkness envelopes your entire life. You cannot see what is around you, so what proof do you have that it truly exists? Sure you can touch and hear and smell and taste, but how do you know you are not being manipulated? We have developed technology such as the television, which can create a world that exists in your field of vision. While watching it, our mind becomes absorbed in it, and we zone out from our surroundings. Our subconscious makes us believe that we exist in that world for a time, and when the movie ends, we snap back into reality. We have created a means to manipulate vision, so why is that concept not applicable to our immediate world? Nowadays, every person that I pass may greet me with a hello or brush by me, and while I can feel them and hear them, how do I know they exist? How can I be absolutely sure that every single person and thing around me is living? Has a conscious and a mind like I do?

I used to try making myself feel to cement the outside world. Experiencing pain through sharp tools. However, this never worked out for me. It was just a mere interlude, after which I grasped the full nature of my surroundings.

I believe this thought has taken over my mind. A sort of obsession. Though I doubt I am wrong. I spend my time isolated here in my room. All is quiet. I know that the floor in front of me extends about four feet, and the one behind me 6 or so feet. I know the carpet is soft yet scratchy, smells damp. Possible mold here and there. The air seeping in is cold, and yet I know none of these things. There is no world outside of here. As I move throughout my house, I believe that my surroundings are a mirage. They only exist when I am around them to give them a physical existence.

I feel as if I am in a grand sort of surreal play. The set is created around me as I go through the scenes. The characters appear and disappear, play different roles, but only ones that relate immediately to mine.

I feel as if the universe is trying to keep me occupied. Or maybe I am all that exists. Maybe each and every one that comes to visit me under the premise of hospitality, or the structural safety of my home, or investigation, or for, ‘my own benefit’, is coming to get a spark of life, or a glimpse of living. Of experiencing.

One time I tried communicating with the actors, trying to get a feel of the depth of their minds. You see, I could believe that they exist just like me, however, something in my mind denies it. If a child can be deceived by something as small as hands, then what says that I should not be deceived by this world too? I grew up with ‘people’ around me. Everyone did. They accept this and do not question it. Especially with my once premature mind, what stipulates that I should not be tricked? I recognized this midway through my interrogation with one and left him out in the shed in the backyard. He was too weak to plead, however I doubt he suffered much. I shut the door, walked upstairs and he ended. All was quiet.

Now more of them have come and searched my home. Police, a figment of my imagination that I once respected. I suppose I can not fully dictate the flow of my environment, as they were able to capture me. Take me to another room. Concrete floors.

They allow me to write. However I doubt that my handwriting is much legible anymore. I write this now to whom it may concern in order to help you grasp the truth.

Perhaps there are those of you who are like me. Perhaps nothing exists beyond the exit door. Either way. I am confined here, as I have always been.

Nothing has changed.

Credit To – Dirk

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Light Bulbs

June 24, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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I’m pretty bad about changing light bulbs.

If there’s any possible way I can put it off, I will. There’s probably some psychoanalytical explanation for it, dating back to when I was a little girl and I grabbed one while it was still hot, but past roommates have always chalked it up to laziness. I split the difference and admit that I’m a garden-variety procrastinator.

The point is, sometimes I end up doing strange things in the dark- folding laundry, mopping, and other household tasks. I’ve even made breakfast before sunrise by the light of the gas stove.

It’s worst in the bathroom, where the light usually comes from a row of six tiny, fiddly light bulbs above the mirror. I also have the entire bathroom to myself, so I’ve never been held accountable to replace them as they wink out over time. When I moved in a year ago, they were all fresh and bright.
Last Friday, the sixth one went out.

I immediately responded by… continuing to brush my teeth. In fact, my routines stayed exactly the same as the days passed. I got a strange, peaceful pleasure from closing the door behind me in the windowless room and going through the motions. Dark made things I had done a million times feel intimate. The best was putting on chill music, then standing in the shower with my head against the wall; feeling stress slough off of me with the water. The room seemed alive around me, became almost womblike. Each time I had to leave my dark, humid bathroom it became more difficult, so since two days ago…I haven’t. I can’t. I don’t know how it got this bad this fast either. Even muted light is too much for my eyes now.

It’s Thursday. As bad as I am about light bulbs, I’m usually pretty good about keeping appointments, and I’m expected at a friend’s birthday dinner later tonight. My phone is on floor in my room. I shoved it under the door myself. I wanted to text her to tell her I couldn’t be there but every time I tried to look at the glow of the screen I gagged from the pain. It buzzed for a long time outside and then it didn’t so I think the battery is dead now and that’s ok.

She wouldn’t believe me, anyway. Jesus Christ it took all my strength to put a towel over the window, I know I face an alley but the sun was trying to get in earlier and it almost did

It happened when I was drying my hair. I’m going to this party and I’m going to look presentable and oh fuck I hope it’s dark at the bar. Rooted around under the sink until I found that familiar cord and yanked it until the resistance was gone. Stuff scattered over the floor but I didn’t care. Don’t care. I’m sitting in windex and fucking tampons while I write this

I felt along the wall with my fingers until the outlet was under them- clumsily plugged in the dryer. It sparked. It does that sometimes. The tiny blue light was enough to make me scream in agony, but the pain left as soon as the spark did. I thumbed the dryer on, HIGH/HOT.
The low drone centered me immediately. Dragging my fingers through my damp hair, I flipped my head over and savored the hot air as it washed over my scalp and raised the temperature in the bathroom second by second. I could smell shampoo and mint and even though it was pitch black I closed my eyes. When my hair was dry enough, I turned the dryer off, anticipating silence.

The dryer wasn’t off. Wait but yes it was, I put my hand in front of it and no air was blowing out of it, but air was coming from somewhere in the room and it was HIGH/HOT, higher and hotter than the dryer ever had been. Rhythmic, like breath.
The drone continued, built on itself, crested as I fell to my knees. It became a mechanized hum, inhuman but oh so very alive and when the walls started shaking I felt my eardrums burst and what felt like cold water sluice down my neck on both sides because the air that was blowing was hotter than blood.

The drone hasn’t stopped but I only know because the walls are still shaking. I can’t hear anymore. Condensation is coating every surface and the paper is starting to tear under my pencil, doesn’t matter anyway because no one can or could read this. Try to write your name in the dark.
I need to tell you that I’m trying to be a better person. I need you to know. I found a box of light bulbs in the linen closet where I got the towel and I’ve been putting them in but when I do they break and cut my palms and fingers but before they break they work. Only for a second, but it let me see where I am.

It’s a throat and I’m being choked down it. The shaking walls are pink and vascular and the outlet is a shuddering sinus that’s taking the dryer cord inch by inch like Lady and the fucking Tramp. Every time a light bulb comes alive I see the hot green bile has gotten closer to the edge of the tub and when it sloshes onto me it will make me part of it. But until then I’ll keep screwing them in.
If I get two on at once I win. No one told me the rules but I’ll win. I’ll win. I’ll win.

Credit To – gothsquatch

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June 8, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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After staring at a laminate television in the dark, I start to get sleepy. My eyes droop and the feeling of my body in unconsciousness starts to take its toll. Like a trance with my brain buzzing and my mouth hanging slightly open.

I remember that my brother, Claudio, lies on his side diagonally from the television. A marathon of True Blood is on and I had sworn to catch up on the story. Being that the clock strikes 2 in the morning, my body caves in. My eyes flutter closed. Calmly, my head lies against the couch. Soundly, my heart beats to the pendulum inside the father clock. Breathing, so steady, it just brings me deeper under.

Something keeps me from falling asleep. Unsettling paranoia creeps on me and trickles down my spine. I shudder to wake and the clock reads that it’s only been one hour since I dozed off. Times slips when you are unaware; reminiscing in the cozy rest. Something grips my attention, holding it firmly in its unknown grasp. Unsettling paranoia.

It starts to fiercely shake me and now my eyes rise wide. My skin starts to feel like it’s rising off of my bones. I scan the room very aware now. I rest my eyes on the sliding glass door in the corner of the living room. Outside it seems so normal. The darkness, so absent of light, gropes against the trees so the color goes away. Everything is so black. Curiosity gets the best of me and carries my exhausted body to the clear surface of the cold glass. There is no moon in the November night sky. It’s covered by clouds, giving the night no chance of life. My eyes squint, with no helpful use, to see out into the night. It pulls me…with a rope wrapped around my waist. But I hesitate because I fear the unknown. Background noises like the television and my brother sleeping without a care-without this disturbance annoying the corners of his simple mind- start to fade away.

The leaves move and the blackness stirs. Yellow eyes flash at me, staring at me with nothing but fierceness of the being. I want to go out and talk to this irritating fear. Usually one would want to run away from something that glares deep into your soul with insanity. But I must know what lies on the other side.

My brother awakens and asks what I’m doing. I slide open the door without acknowledging him and a cool breeze whispers in my ear and against my skin. There is a long dirt path that leads into the woods. Taking baby steps, my curiosity leads me on. More yellow eyes sprinkle the dark trees and the bundles of bushes. They started rising out of nowhere. I’m not sure what’s causing me to keep walking forward but with every step I take, my heart grows in cowardice. My palms get sticky with sweat along with an unwelcome wave of warmth flowing through me. It is the dread that makes my stomach turn. That makes my knees wobble. That races my mind and turns my sanity upside down. The yellow eyes seem to burn their way into me. My breathing speeds and I walk faster. The darkness reaches out to me and touches me, trying to get its hold in me. More yellow eyes come together and I see a sickly shape form around the small yellow orbs.

Large and deformed, the air is thick with the odor of iron.
Almost like blood.
The shapes all take place with the yellow eyes. Growing all around me at intense speeds. My legs get the signal to run so they obey. My long brown hair falls behind me and so does all the hope I had for turning back. They chase me now and I can’t stop. But I do stop because there is a cliff ahead after escaping all these looming trees. From the air, three of the beings land in a hunch in front of me. Growling fills the air and I freeze in a moment of panic. Whatever they were they had long appendages coming from their back and ribs. There is a cloud break in the sky and the moonlight gracefully pours over the land and everything that inhabits it.

I saw it.

They have decomposed skin and those strikingly terrifying yellow eyes. With blood staining their macabre flesh. Ripped apart and allowing the disconfigured bones so show. The organs flowing naturally out of them but without them acknowledging it. Their faces are the worst part of this horror. Large teeth with a glasgow grin following all the way up the cheeks to their tiny ears. Their tongues hanging down and slobbering all over themselves. Blood and saliva. I clench my heart; it feels like it stopped.

This is like the worst beings to come out of my insane nightmares. Things that only come out of the dark and living proof that true terror does exist. Hissing and moaning and groaning they all surround me. Their stench is too horrid to bear. The earth spins around me and I just accept my fate. Taking in the last feelings of living I look around me and see a break. Everything closes in on me and I spot a large stick on the ground. I pick it up and charge for the trees, whacking a being in the head sending it backwards. With a small sigh of relief I know that it still isn’t over. The things were running after me. Emerging from the abundance of trees, beings with boiled skin and glowing even though they have dead skin. I am only going as fast as my weak legs will let me. Seeing the light from my home ignites a warm reassurance in me, a hope that escaped from me. I stumble and slow tripping at the steps of the sliding glass door. I fumble to open the door and fall into the warm building letting the light embellish around me. I turn with my palms and face pressed against the glass. There was nothing but the haunting black left behind.

Credit To – Z. Slaughter

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June 6, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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I watch the horror film that is news, every single fucking day. I have, shall we say, an unhealthy obsession, with knowledge, and subsequently the ‘knowledge’ provided by my television screen. I just cannot seem to ignore it; I suppose this is due to my primal instincts, provided by evolution. My instincts force my mind to pay attention to potential threats, and yes, forgive my insolence, but images of terrorism, horrid superbugs and violence look a little like threats to me, and they have stolen my ridiculous little life.
This is what I am now doing, sitting ridged in the darkness, with only my television set for company, providing me with a dull, glowing light, once again taking notes on the events of the world, as though I am in fact a reporter, and not simply watching one, with a terrified and aimless expression on my face, slowly wasting away.
I am calculating, and recalculating my chances of survival up against the new potential terrifying apocalypse being presented to me. Today it is bacteria, flesh-eating bacteria to be exact. Apparently it eats away at your flesh, and gains its nourishment from your blood. It sounds positively ghastly, definitely not something I wish to become involved in.
I come to the conclusion that I must stay inside, well, no changes there. I have always been somewhat, socially inept, but in the past few weeks I have become even more immersed in my own company, as though it is a separate entity from myself, able to entice me into solitude.
I make a mental note that I must not open the creaking, wooden door to the outside world, or the dusty windows, for fear of allowing that disgusting, damaging infection into my damp, dimly lit home. That would just be an excuse for some bad shit to happen, not that bad shit usually needs an excuse to arrive, but I sure as hell don’t want to give it one, for if I do, well, then the demise is on me.
I realize that this is in fact somewhat of a shame, because my only glimpses of the ‘real’ world come from my window, showing me the large skyscrapers outside of my home, and the gorgeous sunlight that is so bright it captivates me, perhaps because of how rare it is that I catch a glance in its direction.
Oh well, I must make sacrifices in order to survive in this terrible, uncaring universe, where pain and threats lay just outside, around every corner, in the very air I breathe, crawling underneath my skin, and plaguing my dreams.
I gaze at the news reporter before me, her hair as beautiful as her glowing skin, as though she was photo-shopped in the womb, and was born into perfection. She speaks in a monotone, her voice low, as though she is reading me a bedtime story, willing me to get some much needed rest.
I am exhausted; my brain is painfully fuzzy, and unable to calculate even the simplest of sums, probably due to my overuse of its functions, and tiring paranoia. I can almost feel my eyelids close, bringing me momentary relief, as though all I need in this world, to remain safe and calm, is some fucking rest.
No, no I cannot sleep now, not when I take in the harrowing meaning of her all too robotic words. She is showing me the potential number of human lives that could be lost, over a million, and statistically, wouldn’t I be likely to be one of them? Living in such a compact and large city, where bacteria have the ability to fester and thrive, even more so than the citizens.
I am basically a fish in a metaphorical barrel, with no defenses whatsoever. I attempt to be rational, I am aware that the stories I am being presented with are most likely filled with lies, or at least over-exaggerated truths. However, my minds rationality seems to crumble quite completely when the bright, fast moving images flicker in front of my eyes, as though visibly threatening me, and me personally. Isn’t it just too convenient, that just the other day I entered into one of my strange conversations with myself, that ended in the ghastly topic of bacterial threats, and my deep fear of a zombie apocalypse, and just two days later it is the main story on the news?
It is as though all of these threats are but one entire entity, determined to find and destroy my being, with some horribly aggressive consciousness.
They have been watching me for a long time now, I realize, thinking back to all of the television schedules I have studied, which appear to fit my life’s events, and the ‘coincidences’ that appear to occur daily, such as me speaking to a friend about thoughts that have been spiraling my mind, and finding that the same topic is being discussed on the television, or the newspapers. It is as though they somehow have access to my thoughts, to my mind. Perhaps they are the reason for it.
No, I’m being ridiculous, I’m just a fucking conspiracy theorist, and I sound like a crazy person. But still, the thoughts will not stop, they simply become louder, as though screaming at me, attempting to show me the truth of the matter.
As I glance at the television, cautiously watching the images before my eyes, I come to a starling realization.
I realize that it is not just the news that is in on this, but also the entire media system itself. They are warping my mind, distracting me from the truth, picking and choosing the information I am allowed to know, as though to render me weak, and easily suggestible. Every time I attempt to fit the pieces of this fucked up puzzle together, I fail, I become more confused, and deeply terrified. As though some fundamental part of myself is becoming more damaged the longer I remain in ignorance.
That is the only explanation I can find for all of the strange things that have been occurring. It is the only explanation for why my mind cannot comprehend such simple things the moment I turn on the screen, the moment those dastardly pixels enter my being, and take over my rationality. I hastily switch off the television, breathing rapidly, as my heart beats painfully against my chest. There is still a small, rounded light at the bottom of the television, reminding me that I cannot escape from this, I cannot escape from the pixels influence.
I cannot help but think that perhaps they can see me through these covert means, as though this is the way that they have been able to keep up with my thoughts, and remain topical in my life.
A loud harrowing knock pounds on my door, causing me to practically jump out of my skin, and physically jump backwards, further into the shadows of the room.
They are aware that I know; this must be it.
I shiver violently, and begin to sorrowfully weep, putting my head in my hands, as though to consume my very being, and keep it safe from these dastardly beings, although I know that it will do no good.
My breath is becoming shaky; I feel as though I am in fact exhaling the very panic that consumes me, although it still has not lessened, in fact it is increasing quite quickly.
Soon menacing beings enthrall me, and my brain becomes disturbingly weak. It is as though the organs within my skeletal frame are being mutated, turned into something unrecognizable, and my body is becoming as tired as my mind, as my eyes becoming blank.
Suddenly I come to the realization that this isn’t so bad; the images before my eyes are entertaining after all, so funny, so captivating. A manic laugh leaves my lips, at the sight of my screen, isn’t technology brilliant?

Credit To – Victoria Lendon

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