Fear Is A Beast
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Fear Is A Beast
There, at the top of Mount Revered, lies a beast. Its eyes made of flames, its soul as dark as the deepest ocean. Its voice rumbles like thunder breaking clouds. And its holds no intention for the calming of its surroundings. It reaps destruction with each breath upon this mountain.
And in its raging, its brings storms that flood the lands below it. It brings clouds that blacken the skies for days. Leaving those below, to wonder if the sun will ever be. It has no taste for sympathy, for the broken or poor.
Its smiles with loathing eyes as it sees those who live below it dance in the sun, dance in the rain. Though the beast bears nothing but a tongue lusting for carnage, many find no fear to it. It builds itself upon the fear of itself, of others willing to cry for it.
This beast is no fool the weeping of beings. The temptations they follow and the voices that plague them with ailments. Its has grown root in the thoughts of those that have planted it. It harvests its land upon the darkest moons. It howls with madness in the mania of chaos. It bleeds not to any wound, and none have found its flaw.
Many have attempted venture to its mountain . But none have made it back. Many say they were driven to the hysteria that cultivates in the clouds like a virus. Some say the beast swallows all those who wish against it. Only to end up in its fiery belly to burn in the eternal suffering of its gut.
But in these tales, one boy sees them to be lies. To be feeble attempts to keep the beast alive. For too many fear what may lie after the death of the beast. What treasures or hell will break free? What weather will be brought upon the people that have slept below the beast from birth?
And though these questions rise like the shadows against the sun, the boy raised his heart and stepped foot upon the mountain. Trudging through the harsh elements the beast breathes. Fire fell from the heavens, boulders crashed down the mountain. And other beast-ful creatures thirsted for the death of this boy.
But nothing kept this boy from piercing the mighty beasts raor. After weeks of walking beside death and holding thin breath to the clouded air. The boy reached the tip of the mountain. And upon the discovery of the top. He found no beast, all was calm. The clouds laid at his feet like cotton. The air was fresh and drifted with sweetness.
And in finding of no beast, the boy laughed in the empty presence. Realizing, it was all but tale that corrupted the village.
When has fear kept you from moving forward?
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