The Fear of the Unknown

*Side note: this is a few paragraphs for a story I am working on at the moment. The main character, just to give a little context to the story, is a slave to the Grim Reaper and is assigned to the city to help dying souls pass on the afterlife. I've called Grim Reaper's slaves Gate Keepers. His emerald flames were given to him by the Grim Reaper to keep him alive and give him magical powers, e.g. invisibility, immortality, speed.

Books of all shapes and sizes rest in my arms, as my emerald flames hug them close to my chest, concealing them in my shroud of invisibility while I drift up and up and up. All the way to the top floor of the antique book shop, which is restricted except for employees. I find my favourite windowsill, arrange my chains around me, and open to the first page of the first book in my stack. Immediately, my nose fills with the rich scent of pages, my fingers stimulated by soft thin paper.

I have already read the book before, and I know how it ends. Each time any book is reread, one always picks up on a new insight or meaning, whether it was left there by the author or not. While I travel through the adventure alongside the protagonist again, I uncover the hidden secrets of the world’s creator once more. The words of the book speak to me, they tell me the characters’ fears and dreams, they share secret messages of the universe, they trust me. Me! They trust me, a non-living being!

I find myself trusting the words, and in turn, sharing my thoughts with the universe handcrafted by the author. I share my fears of the unknown. I share my dream to uncover all truths, to gain all knowledge, to know everything. I even share the terror I have towards my master and his silver scythe, because no matter how much I read and research, there is no book in the living world that fully describes who or what he actually is. And because he is connected to me, I am terrified of myself just as much. I am grateful to my emerald flames that Master has given me because they keep me alive and assist me in everything I do. Yet, in a paradoxical way, I am afraid because I don’t really know what the flames are except that they are extensions of Master's magic, the pinnacle of mystery.

I am afraid to live and die, because I don’t know what could happen. So, surprisingly, I couldn’t imagine myself in any other position then as a Gate Keeper opening doors so dying souls pass onto Purgatory. I am meant to be an outcast of Life and Death, holding the doors open but never entering, standing in the same place until the end of time. Though I am fascinated by both worlds and want to learn as much as I can about both, their mysterious natures prevent me from diving right into both.

I have been lonely and miserable for my centuries of existance, but I prefer being alone than taking that chance of embracing that which I do not know. My existence is quite a depressing dilemma, for I desperately want to experience Life and Death with all my heart, but I know I will never take the required action to do so. I have never taken any real action for anything outside my routine of transferring souls and reading books, so I don’t even know if I can even act at all. At least, I have books to satiate my desire for knowledge and comfort me in loneliness.

I sit all evening reading, pouring over mountains and mountains of books, while simultaneously zipping across every corner of the city completing my appointments for milliseconds at a time.