Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction
Fear of Self By Simona Sand
Fear of Self
By Téa Bianca Sand, 12
Fear. That snake that slithers up your back and crawls down your neck.
Fear. That otherworldly whisper that makes your hairs stand on end.
Fear. That hairy, black, eight-legged spider that creeps up your leg and causes you to shiver.
You all know that feeling, don’t you? It takes just one traumatic moment to change your thought process entirely. Believe me. I should know. People interpret fear very differently. Some think that fear is just an idea. Others see it as a controlling and important part of their lives, like death. Either way, fear is a living, slithering emotion. And I, lucky me, get to be made of it.
I darted across to the corner, sweat forming on my forehead. She was behind me. I could feel her penetrating stare burn the back of my head. A single bead of sweat trickled down my face. Thunder lashed over my head. I yelped in pain and crashed down onto the pavement. I screamed for help, but nobody answered. I had no one. I was alone. I could hear her voice screeching with laughter because I was hurt. Pain in others was what made her happy. She was only out to get me. To get me hurt. Terrified. Afraid. Lonely. A sharp pain seared through my hand and light danced in front of my eyes. Darkness clouded over me and I lost track of my senses. The emotional rollercoaster I’d been riding went off track. The railings broke, the boundaries fell, and the world went black.
The first thing I thought when I awoke was: okay, I’m dead. I was expecting a noisy ambulance towering over me and lots of people busying themselves around me, but no. I realised that I wasn’t dead, and that the many worried people were in fact two pigeons and a rat. I slowly got to my feet and prayed to God that she was gone. She was the one thing that had stopped me from being the happy, optimistic girl that I once was. She kept me from sleeping. She kept me from smiling. She was Fear itself.
Lightning killed any vegetation in sight. Thunder tore apart the houses and rain drowned all the pavements. All apartments and houses had been destroyed but one. The corner house. Painted black, anyone would have thought that the Devil itself was keeping it safe. Tentatively, as quiet as a mouse, I took a step towards the house. I winced, for fear that something bad would happen. Nothing did. I kept taking slow steps forward. Before I knew it, I was by the front door. I was standing in front of Hell’s gateway. Every neuron in my brain was telling me to leave. Every bone in my body was itching to run away. But I stood my ground. The only way to overcome fear is to face it. So, reluctantly, my blackened and shrivelled hand reached towards the doorknob
My candle blew out.
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