Fear

Time to write!



Fear

“You can’t move a muscle,” Zachary said, his face very close to mine, his blue eyes sparkling with
mischief.
“But I’m not comfy, Zach,” I complained to my older brother. I already resented being put to bed so
early so that my brothers could go watch a movie while my parents were out on date that Friday night,
and now Zachary was squishing me, pulling the blankets so tightly around me that I couldn’t move my
legs at all.
“Listen, Breanna,” he said, very patiently, mooshing the blankets around my face and making me feel
like I was some sort of Breanna-filling in a big comforter taco shell. “Tonight is the night of the Living
Dead. If I don’t wrap you up this way, the vampires will come and they’ll kill you.”
At this age I’d laugh at such a statement. At fifteen I would’ve rolled my eyes. My twelve year old self
would’ve been beyond irritated at the incessant teasing and would’ve kicked the blankets off definatly-
probably kicking a bit of older brother too, just for good measure. But at nine years old, my only reaction
was horror.

Night of the Living Dead?

Who even knew there was such a night? And why in the name of all things good and gracious had my
parents left that particular night? Didn’t they love me at all?