Fear

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


From the perspective of the god of fear, Phobos.

Submitted: February 21, 2018

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Submitted: February 21, 2018

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My, my, my. What a lovely, positively wondrous amount of souls for the taking. But I must tread softly, Zeus knows what it would be like if all of them were to be consumed and overwhelmed by the concept of fear, controlled by the bitter, splendid thoughts of utter terror. It would be a sight to behold, but then old Nemesis would be such a handful. She does love her balance, and I do not wish to be at the end of her fury. 

 
 

I must be choosy; I must be picky. Which soul is weak and which is strong? Which do I want to corrupt and bring down? The weak are always so easy, and they are destroyed in a matter of years.  

 
 

Oh, but it is the strong that are a great deal more fun to watch, as they struggle and fight and eventually give up hope; defeated and miserable. A sight, a beautiful sight, that would bring utter happiness to one such as I. 

 
 

Hello, child. You look lovely, bundled up in a cloth, sound asleep against the cotton. But where is your mother? And your father? Not around to protect you, I see. Well, that makes this a little less fun. But, I have chosen and I can see that you are bright and powerful. It will be a joy to see you succumb to the fear. Hm. But what fear? What fear will come to define you, my sweet dear child. 

 
 

Shall it be Agateo, so the thoughts of the insane will forever plague you into becoming what you fear most?  

 
 

Or Arrhen, so you will never know the love of a man, as you push all the males in your life away until you are surrounded by nothing but feminism. 

 
 

But, how about Clino, where your feet shall never enjoy the comfort of rest and you will walk for eternity until you crumble away into nothing. 

 
 

Acro, my dear Acro, you have dealt with countless souls and given me much satisfaction. Such a simple fear. Such a magnificent fear. But Aero, you are so distant. Might I use you, to form a fear of preposterous nature, that one may fear the open, the high. 

 
 

Excellent. So beautiful.  

 
 

Deimos? Deimos, my brother, come hither. And bestow upon this child your panic.  

 
 

Oh my, oh dear. Can you see it? The future of this child, frozen in fear and panic as it looks over the wide expanse of the lake. As it trembles from the height of the bridge. So wondrous. So fulfilling... 

 
 

Now, come, it is time to help another; help them understand that one is never so strong as to flee from Phobos and Deimos.  

 
 

Let us be on our way.  


© Copyright 2018 M. C. Kapo. All rights reserved.

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