Canvas Of Fear

• Melos Kebede, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2019

The canvas is decayed with black strokes of what was destined to be the future-held hand, gripped of the underlying darkness of fear, distraught. It’s the dull, scruffy image of the canvas that emits this ambiguous, vague aura. It shines its rays, like the sun, so brightly to see yet blinds the eyes, with all that’s left is a blurry afterimage. However, the canvas must begin with a ground, a structure, but everything has its end. Will the fear end or shall it continue in this monochromatic cycle? Does this mean our dangers are also to continue on this cycle? Paintbrushes, already to perform its art as the miseries of this world are ready to distort its canvas of fear. As the brush leads its way into the palette of colour, which one shall it choose for it is unknown of the canvas and thus is unknown to itself. The hair of the paintbrush trapping the paint is like the gates of fear imprisoning me. The colour of Fear. Its concept is unknown but shall its associative correspond? But Black. Such an enigmatic colour ; clear, filled with pure darkness yet unclear of its definition. A canvas of fear. Afraid, alone. The night sky, the breeze roams the eerie atmosphere. What surrounds, what expands, what lies out there, we don’t know, is that our fear? Our little minds are unable to comprehend the most complex concepts on what may seem the simplest in the “outside world”. Us mere earthlings, consumed of instinctual curiosity yet hesitations to explore the more. Little people stuck in this big world. I wonder what lies beyond the parameters of life; our living space. Fear is crawling on my spine and chewing the back of my head like a dog to a bone. Trembling, adrenaline rises up like the wind, heart races. Unlike shadows that follow you, fear infests you. I just swing on a leafless, dead-rooted tree, as fragile as a house of cards, grey clouds caving in on me, encircling, as it tingles every fibre of my skin. Fear feels like the sharp-pointed needle, making its journey to the very deep cuts of your skin, as it prompts your inner scream to escape you like a bunch of confetti exploding out of a balloon. A penumbra of fear is layered on you, more and more is added the more you keep feeding it, the more you keep giving in to it.