Member-only story
Doubt
A story, or a poem, or something in-between, I never am sure exactly how to label the things that come out of me.
When I was six I doubted the my house would not catch fire.
I heard sirens every night blaring through the neighborhood, igniting sheer panic in my bones.
Relief creeping over me as the screaming grew more distant and I awoke to a room with no smoke.
With all those siren, fire drills, and fire saftey presentations I was sure fire must happen all the time.
Everyone’s house must burn down on some unlucky night.
When I was seven I doubted that I would not get kidnapped.
After all, strangers were dangers and they were EVERYWHERE!
All those kid on the milk cartons were my final defining proof that is could happen any minute. That it happened all the time.
When I was eight I doubted I would ever learn how to spell. The “D” glaring up at me from the goldenrod report card was final proof that I just wasn’t very smart.
I had to work hard for that “D”, while my brother got an “A” every time he wiggled his pinky finger.
Now I doubt the world that taught me all these things.
I doubt the fear.
