Fear...of Fear

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Living in consternation, in fear of fear itself, is a prospect unheard of; an extraordinary ordeal. It is what makes me holler like a madman, a feeling unlike any other brewing inside me, a feeling that may be defined as the blend, the com-mixture of all other feelings. I fear fear. Isn’t the expression presenting an idea far beyond the wildest stretches of imagination? We fear crepuscular horrors that can harm us, we fear dead corpses that haunt us, we fear virtually unknown objects that possess the ability to erase our identity, but do we fear their master, fear itself? The situation seems too convoluted to brood upon, so let us proceed forth, to enunciate upon the experiences fate decides us to go through.
As many students burning with the zeal to quench their thirst of knowledge do, I stay awake when the hours are waning to study. I am awake when even the shadows grow still, lost in a deep slumber. When the nocturnal nasties scarper to their homes to escape the ever-escalating stillness of their surroundings. And still I plod on, now turning over a page of the tome I have to go through by morning, now scratching the pen, letting the ink flow on the neat, crisp paper…….all this I do in the darkest portion of the house that may be termed as my study room (right now, that’s where I am, and you can imagine my state: fear of fear?). The place almost seems like a second home to me, though the prospect of a home within a home is dead interesting (I will suggest it sometime later to my sister who’s an aspiring interior designer). I am trying hard to concentrate upon Auden, but it sure isn’t easy when you read the following lines in the still darkness of the night:
Behind you swiftly, the figure comes softly,
The spot on your skin is a shocking disease?
I shudder. That’s when the lights suddenly decide to stop supporting my cause, and leave me enshrouded in darkness. A shiver runs down my spine. No one is awake, no one except me. Unknown fears grapple my mind, crippling the power to think. What’s that slight swooshing sound? What’s that flickering orb? You may be sure that I am pretty scared. Then suddenly, as I sit in my wicker chair (it is not essentially a wicker chair, but I name it so, in case you were wondering), someone silently places a hand on my shoulder. I scream, my voice echoing in the silent house. “It’s me son. I just wanted to see how you are doing.” Uttering a silent sigh of relief, I ingeminate, for what seems like the thousandth time, “Dad………………………”





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