Everyone around me is covering their ears.
I scream when I’m scared, and lately, I’ve been constantly terrified. It’s obnoxious; people are starting to turn away.
It’s painfully obvious when the main character runs straight toward the danger; they are practically following a map towards the nightmarish creature that is eerily following closely behind.
I keep running towards the monster.
I can’t help but let my feet run without my brain directing them. They take off at a pace I normally could never match. They go numb, fueled by anger and fear and stress and loneliness and every feeling I’ve ever felt besides love.
There’s nothing left to lose—if I don’t confront the creature head-on, I’ll keep running away my entire life, glancing behind my shoulder at every step. I can’t live like that. I continue plowing forward in the opposite direction of reason.
All the while, I never stop shrieking at the top of my lungs. My vocal cords strain, and my voice is becoming fried. It feels like I inhaled a day’s worth of bonfire smoke. I choke on air and cough out terror. Each hair on my arm is at attention to the command of my despair. My pupils shrink to hide themselves from what I am approaching.
My pupils shrink to hide themselves from what I am approaching.
My sprint halts immediately with no warning. I look at the grotesque, writhing creature before me. It’s a horror series—the odds of making it out alive aren’t on my side. Plot armor isn’t here to protect me this time; the outcome of this situation is entirely up to me.
The monster lashes out, striking me with its charcoal-scaled tail. I stand my ground. I convince myself that it doesn’t hurt—it’s a survival instinct intrinsic to my biology. I swallow my tears in a hard gulp that I feel drop into my stomach and pool up in my feet.
I’m finished here.
I can’t defeat this monster, but I’m not letting it chase me either. I’m not running. I will not attempt to tame the creature in such a cliché manner—or, honestly, at all. I turn on my heel and slowly make my way back the way I came. I wave to the creature, and it hisses at me furiously, but it doesn’t give chase. It knows I don’t fear it, and it knows I won’t cry.
I let the fury come off of me in waves, instantly providing me with a cool relief. As it leaves me, I am no emptier but overflowing with relief. I realize, at last, my mouth is gaping with no sound escaping. I finally stop screaming, and the silence is a song like no other.
