I have those Little Fears in me. I know you have your own one's too. And these Little Fears are just like those short stories of Roald Dahl - unexpected, uncertain and unexplained.
Now these Little Fears were always the unfashionable things to talk about. Like i could never talk about them considering all the bigger fears i was surrounded with. Now, if you ask me, i am not sure whether at all those Big Fears i have grown up with, have anything to do with my decisions in life. Believe you me in the first place i could never own up those Bigger Fears as they were never mine. They were all gifted to me by so many people in my little life.
Now the War on Vietnam had no impact on the sky of my city. It was still filled with a languid taste, anyways. Again Simone De Beauvoir, had never stopped me from imagining lust from those fallen bras'. Or for that matter Nietzsche did not drown me in his Nihilism at all.
But what affected me was more about those events or things that did not matter to most of us at all ( at least i never knew if it was).
The little kitten playing on a broken window pane pounded my hearts with a deep fear that it might bleed to death. The unavailability of the voice of a Candy maker for a day in my neighborhood deeply troubles me, fearing me about his mortality. The grey sky without a rain makes me fearful about how to deal with this sordid nothingness. Incessant itching on my left palm fears me splendidly when i know that this is nothing but a superstition - a superstition that itching on my left palm should rain me dollars in my torn pocket.
I could never share these feelings and the growing paleness within me, to anyone. Not even to them with whom i shared my bed - bedspread and uneven; blue and whites. I did try. But my fears became truer. They left me without a trace of their fancy heels and with a burdened stock of memories - gray, red and dry!
#Story, #Writing, #Memory, #Fears, #Monologue, #Faded, #Textures, #Time, #Still Life