New Fears

dark-forest-path-wallpaper

(Credit: devfloat.net)

I was more than halfway home, when she was suddenly there in the middle of the forest path. The moon gave her dark hair a halo and let me see enough of her pleasing form to conclude that she was naked. I might have become aroused, were it not for her hands; Each had five long claws instead of fingers and the right one was dripping blood. In the periphery of my vision, I saw a man sized lump at the side of the path, but I could not tear my eyes away from her, and when she raised her red right hand and pointed straight at me, I knew that there could be no escape. I looked up into her eyes and there I saw flames from another world.

However, she did not choose to take me that night, she spread out black bat wings behind her and flew into the sky, and I went home in a daze, shivering and sweating profusely.

I sleepwalked through the next couple of days. When they asked me about the dead man I merely shook my head. When I woke up proper, I realized that all the fears and worries I used to have had been replaced with a woman with a red right hand and an inferno in her eyes.

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Reimagining Old Fears

I have always had a fear of clowns.

Maybe it’s their mouths; they’re so large. Large enough to swallow small children whole.

When I was a teenager, I got tired of my childish fear and wanted to rid myself of it. I thought violence would be the answer; so I imagined the most frightening clown I could think of, with large staring eyes and long sharp teeth, I imagined a whole army of them, and then I beat them to a pulp in my head. I smashed their round noses against each other, yanked out their rainbow coloured hair and swung them around by their oversized shoes.

And from the red remains, they arose, reborn; zombie clowns with missing limbs or an eye hanging out of the socket, ready to eat me more than ever.

So I did my best to think only of puppies the rest of that week, and to this day I never go to the circus, or watch zombie films for that matter.

But sometimes, they just turn up out of nowhere with their gloved reaching hands, and I have to go to the bathroom until I can force them out of my mind.

It is Just a Mask

just a mask

It’s just a mask.

It’s just a mask you see.

It’s not me.

It’s my façade towards the world,

And it works just fine

Most of the time.

I hate when they say that my personality is only skin deep.

Then I want to rip the mask off and toss it far out to sea.

But then I’m afraid that the face underneath is too different.

Then I’m afraid it’s identical.

Then I’m afraid that the face underneath is just another mask,

And the face beneath it

Is blank.

Mote Woman

Dust Motes Dancing in the Sunbeams (1900)

Dust Motes Dancing in the Sunbeams (1900) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There is a woman in our attic. I do not think my parents know. She cannot be seen most of the time, but sometimes the motes gather in the sunlight and she is there, all sparkly and beautiful.

She terrifies me.

Not that she ever threatens me. She never does anything other than float below the window, looking up at the sky. But when I see her, I wonder why she is here, why she has not gone on to somewhere else, and I wonder what she is looking for.

And I am afraid that she might be dead. And I am afraid that she is waiting for the end of the world where the sky will burn, so that she can be released. And I am afraid that she is praying for it.

If she asked anything of me, I would give it to her.

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