The Solitary Fear

I felt it enter my mind as the sun set, the shadows of the tree branches dancing and swaying across the grass.

It transformed my pure brain into a labyrinth of horrific emotions. It made me weep, not the lenient tears of happiness or laughter, but the harsh tears of sorrow and grief.

It followed me like an ominous cloud, its presence engulfing me in fear. It disgusted me, yet it consumed me, filling my mind with horrifying thoughts of death and mortality and all that is corrupt.

I tried to conceal it with a smile, yet it escaped through the gaps in my teeth and the glassy surface of my eyes.

It left cuts and bruises from the thorn of a wilted rose, the petals aged and withered against my young, pure skin.

I tried to heal my wounds, but to no avail, as they transformed into distorted scars of pain and sorrow. For many days and many moons I was lost in wonder, of how I would banish it from the disoriented realm of my mind.

One night, when I was bed-ridden and near to be seized by the forgiving entity of sleep, it dawned on me that it could never be removed from my soul. It would forever tail me, although I vowed to not let it engulf or consume me. I chose to accept it as it was, the raging beast which resided within me, within the tangled web of my mind and the twisted core of my heart.

What was it? I could not describe it in words. It was a rasping whisper lost amongst the shrill of a violent wind. It was a filthy sky, dotted with the shadows of black clouds. It was a dark void, containing only the souls of those with broken minds and hearts.
It was the fear. The solitary fear of everything and nothing.

By Lottie Frohmader