The Fear

December 15, 2011
The boy pedaled and pedaled; his thighs ached and he was drenched with sweat. The snow slowed him, and he could feel the heavy breathing of his pursuer. It burned on the back of his neck. He knew he had to keep going, he could never stop. He was going to die.

The boy could see an old building ahead. It was dingy looking, with broken windows and rotting wood. He pedaled until he was only a few feet away and leaped off his bike, sprinting toward the door. He kicked it open and desperately looked for somewhere to hide. He saw a flight of stairs, and in a split second he was up to the second floor, third floor, he had to hide! He saw a room, kicked open its door and crouched in a dark corner.

His pursuer’s footsteps were loud and harsh against the boy’s ears. They came closer and closer and suddenly it was apparent to the boy that he was going to die. There was no escaping this: he was going to die! He was going to be killed and he didn’t know what would happen next! He fell to his side, clutching his chest. The fear, this horrible fear of death overpowered him. He sobbed and screamed and watched as his killer entered the room.

“There you are,” the killer, a man in his mid-thirties, growled. “There’s no escaping me now.”

The boy screamed and screamed, he was so scared! He wanted so badly to evade this frightened feeling. And now he knew that the only way to escape the fear of death was to die. “Kill me,” he screamed, his voice shrill in the dark room.

“Oh, I will,” came the answer of the man.

“Now, kill me, please, I can’t wait anymore!”

“A little impatient, are we?” the man chuckled. He bent down, putting his face close to the boy’s. “It’ll come soon.”

The boy relaxed a little, for his killer’s breath reassured him. Death was near. The man reached into his pocket. When his hand came back out he was clutching a gleaming knife. The boy smiled.

When the killer stabbed the boy, it was a beautiful agony. It was joy compared to the fear of death, joy! The boy laughed as the the knife broke through his skin and liver, he laughed as it was pulled out and thrust back in through his heart. Funny how things turn out, he thought as he took his last breath. It’s all funny.



Something came out of the boy when he died. A sort of ghost, a spirit, something that drifted out of the dark room, out of the old building, down the snowy street and to the nearby seashore. It watched the freezing waves crash against the shore. It bathed in the cold light of the moon. It was the Fear. The fear of death that invades every human’s mind. It causes crippling panic and doubt; it blinds us and prevents our minds from stretching to the places we want them to go. It left the boy’s body when he died, and now it was to roam the land and air for all of eternity. But the Fear was scared. It contained the Fear, and that Fear contained another Fear. The Fear is an endless plague of fright and sadness. And when a human dies, they are freed of their Fear. But a Fear is never freed. A Fear will go on fearing, for all eternity.





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