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This is a story but not quite and it doesn't fall under poetry. No it's closer to prose so I decided this is the best place for it
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The Colour of Fear
Fear. Yes fear. What is the colour of fear? What is the shape of darkness? What if darkness could take on a shape? No, not shadows, cast by objects, nor dark corners where the light cannot possibly penetrate the blackness. But rather a shape and a substance, perhaps even a mind…….a purpose of its own. To move and think and know and become a different kind of entity than any known to this state of existence.

A being that feeds like any other and yet like none other. Blood is foul, the flesh dross. Its ascendance into being desires life itself, for that indeed is what it lacks, for how can darkness have life if dark is but a place where there is no life? A life stealer, draining, sucking, devouring every precious drop of being that comes within its reach. Blood , flesh, physicality mean nothing to it, for it desires above all else life to further its own twisted being and progress its mutated and surreal evolution. A purpose, yes, a purpose unlike any other. While others, hunter, hunted, and even those who live only in self defense, desire to live peacefully, to survive in harmony. It desires to survive exclusively, feeding off chaos.

Imagine, if you will, what it might be like, for us at the top of the food chain even, to be hunted by this thing, for what else may we call it by? It has no other name, no word to properly and truly describe this ever so cruelly unusual being.

Just imagine it. Something lurking. Oh so close but yet ever just out of view. Rationality denies it, but it denies rationality, every nerve and instinct screaming to run, hide, flip light switches, get rid of the darkness in what you see as an utterly reasonless fear that begins to take even shape and colour before your eyes. What colour? It has no name.

And so you ignore it, the darkness edging ever closer ever nearer, your chest leaden, the growing overwhelming numbing feeling of dread, the pounding pounding pounding of your heart echoing down the lost empty dark reaches of the hallway ever, your small spot of light, your safety growing ever so slightly smaller by every second, every glance, that thing crouching just on the edges of your peripheral vision, even as your imagining teeth claws knives it doesn’t matter which, sweat drenched body lunging twisting gyrating energy consuming claws reaching only inches from your neck. One thought. One, just one. You must not leave the light. But the light grows less, the darkness invading like a gathering storm or a pack of wolves hungry for the feed…..wolves? No, more like carrion crows, eagerly awaiting your doom. A foreboding harbinger of-of what? Death doom end. What does it matter? The fear is the same. The creature waiting for you to step past the ever shrinking boundaries of your sanctuary, muscles tensed, twitching, poised to spring, claws rattling almost noiselessly in anticipation. The lunge. The pounce. The kill. The eyes, darting to watch your every frantic move, colourless tongue lolling drunkenly, jaws already dripping in your blood, waiting to seize, kill, destroy, drinking in the heady scent of your fear. Your breathing quickens, your heart pounding louder, louder, always louder, your eyes looking frantically for something that’s always just beyond your line and range of vision. The panic growing, growling-growling? Is that right? Yes you hear growling. Your prepare to run, the fear taking over, the signal it been waiting for. The lunge…the pounce…the kill.

Then, then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it is gone, leaving you in your fear, the colour of it disappearing, eyes still searching the shadows for that thing which, only moments ago lurked menacingly waiting for you, the herald of death. The tendrils of madness impinging on the edges of your mind. The shadows dissipate and you blink in the harsh and sudden light, your mind still numb from shock, body still paralyzed from fear.

Gradually, very slowly, almost leisurely, your heart retreats to your chest and your thoughts become rational once more. Hallucinations. Overwork. A cup of coffee. Yes, coffee, coffee and a cigarette and you’ll be fine. But, in the back of your mind, in the furthest and most desolate corner of your subconscious mind, you know it will return again, and again, toying with you, tormenting terrifying torturing until you give in and succumb to the madness and terror. Then, you belong to it….. This, is the colour of fear……..

Thanks...and yeah I know there are a few typos....I was writing really fast. I need to sit down and proof read some of my work, including this one but I can never find the time, you know?

Anyhow, thanks for the feedback. ^_^