Oh, and it's true. I'm scared of like, everything.
My father has told me to go to retrieve the recycling bin.
Stupid recycing bin. Couldn't come in itself.
It's at the top of the driveway.
So I borrow my mom's slippers to go get it.
And then I forgot: the fear.
The fear that envelopes all. That closes in. That grips you in its icy claws lifting you...
Lifting just over the edge of the safe plane that is reality. It takes your subconsious, and holds it like a little dog (like Scooter!), to peer into the icy blackness of hell. And down there you see all the demons that you know don't exist.
But you don't really realize that you saw it. Your stomach does, though.
It feels odd. Someone has ripped out and taken a piece of it. And you know that piece is where safety is. You know it is in the well-lit box of hot air that is your house.
So you sprint, knowing that if you forget the recycling bin you will be forced back out of the box. You grab it quickly, after finding it through night's dark cloak, and through the creaking of the trees...
You run back to the door, your heart pounding in your ears. You run as fast as you can. And you yank the door open.
And fear flees. Your stomache is repaired. Your subconsious reattaches itself to the middle of reality.
And you catch your breath...
And you go blog about what just happened.
Well, I guess that's it.