I Am Scared of the Dark

The servant of one highly acclaimed lady sits in front of his sturdy desk — inkwell and feather ready for use, and high-quality parchment waiting patiently for his confession. The man sighs deeply before putting quill to paper.

Dear lady,

It is with a heavy heart that I confess, at last. I acknowledge that I am scared of the dark.

My displays of confidence and gallantry were naught but dishonesty in the end. I know how it sounds — you’re right. But please, allow me the chance to clarify; it is not darkness in and of itself that I fear, but instead its inherent property of deluding the mind.

I am under the impression that the road I walk during the day is not the same as during the night, and this realization troubles me greatly, so much indeed that I will not be able to serve you in this nightly venture any longer.

Harmless branches during the day become spindly arms at night, screaming as they rock back and forth in the chilling wind — reaching for me…

The rustling of leaves and the occasional wild rabbit is pleasant enough during the day, but when the same happens at night — when I am unaware of what may hide therein, it induces great fear within.

Yes, I am a coward; I am fully aware of this fact. But you see, my lady, the unknown scares me more than anything, and the dark of the night deludes the mind, making known — unknown.

I am so very sorry, my mistress, I know you had high hopes for me, but you will have to find a new servant — someone who is not a coward. Thanks for all you have done for me. It has been an honor to serve you.

Your humble servant.

Teardrops fall onto the parchment, fading the ink. The man has to wipe his eyes with the cuff of his sweater before, at last, scribbling down his name at the bottom of the parchment

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