Fear and its alter-egos

I’d like to be honest with you right now.

I’m not really afraid of anything. I’m really not.

Things dont really scare me like they used to and so I think it’s safe to say, now, nothing does.

I mean I dont like to think of myself as fearless or as invincible, but I just don’t seem to react anymore when I see things that should and normally would scare me.

The winds sweep around the trees, blowing a noisy gust towards the house. It’s dark and the owls hoot to warn and to scare those afraid of the dark. The house looms in the distant, shrouded by low cloud and hidden behind ivy and roses with thorns. The spire pieces the blanket of cloud above, rain spilling from the wound. A branch creaks, a scurry of feet and the patter of rain against a tin roof nearby. You try and convince yourself that you aren’t terrified.

I did have this dream once; about a house. It was this huge, red brick fortress in the middle of a field. It was night and I was alone. That time, it was hard to remember I dont get scared.

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