Fear

“No…not now…”

Fear surges inside me once again. Cold descends within the room and clutches to my skin. I close my eyes and try to control my breath as a chill surrounds me.

“It likes the fear, it likes the fear, it likes the fear…” is the mantra which repeats as the hairs start to rise on my head.

With heavy thuds my heart begins to pump at a furious rate. I can feel it all around me now. The pressure continues to build as I lose control and hyperventilate.

“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.” I whisper.

The urge to open my eyes must be denied, for I know what will be seen. Such a sight would be too much for a fragile mind to bear. My hands cover my face in an effort to hide.

“It will be gone soon.” I tell myself in desperate hope.

The atmosphere becomes electric, my body begins to rock back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I tremble and can’t stop the movement as its frozen aura permeates all around me.

At first it was but a thought, a simple jest. An abstraction that I could overcome, now it is real and right in front of me.

Temptation to behold the unknown becomes my greatest foe. Oh to look upon it again. See the beast for what it is, confront the villain and find my courage before the situation grows more dire.

Too late though, I could feel it had already entered my mind. We were one, the day was lost. I laughed like a fool. I whaled like a madman. When I could no longer endure, I opened my eyes.

Silence beset the room as I gazed upon my assailant. Before me, laid neatly upon my desk, the blank pad of paper. A canvas of unfettered whiteness mocked me. Despite my best efforts, an empty void had set in, all motivation gone. Now it had me, my creativity was no more.

I sighed and accepted this failure once again. Today was lost to fear, insecurity and self-doubt. Would this be the moment my drive was gone forever? Would the fire to write ever return? Only tomorrow would present another chance to capture the story. Even then, would this creative wall continue to persist? Would the joy ever be back?

To put pen to paper. To confront the demon of writer’s block and spill black ink upon the barren page, first though I needed to adjust my thermostat. For this chilly air did me no good.