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The Horror

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Oh the horror. The aura of the horror. Oh the indescribable, unwavering horror. It makes my bones tremble at the sight of it, the talk of it and by the noise of it. The eight legs of the spiders and the dark, dark nights without a fire. It's truly terrible, oh it is. Terrible to point in which you are scared to sleep, eat, and breathe. Your sleep leaves you unalert and vulnerable, but you must. Exhaustion could be worse than the vulnerability of slumber, as when you are exhausted you see things that aren’t there, the horrors feed off of your exhausted hallucinations.

Even worse still is the insinuation the horrors give you after not eating, eating keeps you distracted and evermore vulnerable to the treachery of the evil. But, to not eat would be to not sleep, the horror feeds off of the hunger pangs and stomach growls until finally you are no more, you see the horror knows your weakness and the horror feeds off of your deepest, darkest fears and the terror sets in even when there may be nothing to fear because the horror wants you to.

Oh and possibly the worst, the dead give away, to breathe. To breathe gives the horror the hope to end the breathing, end the life. But what are you to do? To stop breathing would be to not eating and the horror would set in ten fold! For the horror would use your very own blue cheeks and blacking out body to finally what?

Picture your darkest, deepest fear, from the darkest, bottomless pit of your heart and multiply it by a hundred. For the horror I speak of follows every word I type and every word that comes through my brain. The horror is in my thoughts and in my words. The horror, oh the horror. The horror of which I speak is worse than waking up and not being able to breathe because a spider has crawled in your mouth and closed your esophagus with its silk webbing. The horror I speak of follows you everywhere and watches your every move, for the horror even controls you.

But what to do? What to do about the horror? Nothing can be done, nothing will ever be able to be done, no, no nothing can be done, not until the heavens rain down from the skies onto the surface of the Earth, which of course is highly improbable.  Could you run? No the horror is much too fast. Could you swim? No the horror will be there too. Could you face the horror and fix the problem? No, the horror often is not one to reason and mustn't be fooled with.

To end the horror you must first stop being human, which of course is impossible, for the horror I speak of is not a gruesome chainsaw serial killer, nor is it an alien attack or anything from the paranormal. The horror of course is your own thoughts, not an outside factor. The horrors that follow you and I on a daily basis remain locked away in our brains to be used against ourselves as a means of being in somewhat control.

The greatest horror to someone is indeed their own thoughts and to get away from your thoughts is impossible. The horrifying thoughts are there for you and you only, to share them is silly, the fears are your own creations in your brain. Now that's something to think about tonight before bed, isn’t it?

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