Have you ever cowered into a corner? I mean really cowered. Not
because, when you were young, your dad was looking for you and you
were scared of punishment. Not because someone is going to hurt you
and you fling your arms up over you head in the hope that it all goes
away. Not even because you're fearing for your life, that whatever
you are trying to hide from in the dead end corner for is probably
going to kill you. No. That's not what it's like to truly cower to
the point of insanity. Your whole body shakes so uncontrollably and
your hyperventilating breath makes too much noise for you to be
comfortable with in hiding – but you just can't stop. Fear rides
through you of not death, but of what happens in the prolonged time
before. Something that is so careless towards you, you long for a
bullet in the head to make it all go away quickly.
True fear arises in your quivering state when you just don't know
why. Or how. Or if it'll even find you. Fear drives from the centre
of your uncertainty and waits in anticipation of a horror, so
gruesome that it might never end quickly enough. Whimpering noises
you didn't think you could make creep out of you and fear bursts into
understanding. You understand fear and nothing else matters. Your
muscles ache from repetitive vibrations, but you cannot feel it. Your
face pulls expressions you didn't know existed, but you don't notice
them. Your throat and lungs try to suffocate you, but that seems
sweet compared to the flittering possibility riddling the back of
your mind. The only thing stopping you from ending it yourself, is
the pathetically inquisitive knowledge that you'll never know what
you're even hiding from.
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