Phobophobia

The shadow extends its hidden tentacles, their gray suckers smacking their lips eagerly. The table that gave birth to the shadow stands to one side, meekly watching the horror that it has unleashed. The walls retreat to a corner, like stunted spectators watching the travesty of a sitcom. I cringe and sink into the floor, but the tentacles seem to be unaware of spatial dimensions. There is a horrible noise, like a heap of shit belching. The hair on my skin stands up straight, not being able to withstand the suction.

Fear grips the heart like a cold steel glove. The chill spreads to the spine faster than bad news. Words are morbid. Taint. Torment. Macabre. Hideous. A darkness that seeps in from the back parts of the brain unleashes images of horror. Death. Insanity. Expulsion. Rejection. Failure. Paucity.

Don't cross the road - the car with its powerfully lit eyes and a leering radiator grill will throttle you to death. Keep off the lawn. Don't touch the fence. Choking hazard. Highly inflammable. Trespassers will be prosecuted. Stick no bills. No parking. No entry. Highly toxic.

We surround ourselves with symbols of fear. We take pride in being afraid. These images of fright are everywhere, encompassing everyone in an all-permeating fear. There is even a fear of using a different verb other than 'grips' with 'panic'. Society's tentacles with their masked suckers suck our inherent ammunitions against fear.

Paranoia. It scares me.