Colony Sometimes I find it almost impossible to write anymore. I am gripped by a stress and a terror that I can't even begin to understand or resolve. The past few months have been filled with moments both of indescribable happiness and love, but have been countered by some of the most horrific feelings and instances that I have yet to experience. It is these moments that make the early years of my life seem only like a dress rehearsal for the macbre stage that I must stand upon now. I often can not sleep at night unless I have the lights on. I see things in the darkness. I hear cries and whispers from realms unseen. My thoughts are filled with the images of dark-blue hands and fire reach out toward where I lay. I know what causes my stress and my fear but I can not confront it. I feel unable to. I realize that it stems in the disappointment that I still hold in myself and the sensitivity that I have the world around me, but I can not confront it. Either it runs or I run. I get so scared in the silence of the late evenings when the common hum of daylight is replaced with the most empty silence that could occur. And that's when the demons come out. When I was a child, maybe about seven or eight years old, I remember a certain moment where I was playing in my grandparent's ancient RV. I sat the table in the back looking over a calender with Julie, eating corndogs with ketchup, and seeing the clear blue bell sky through the windshield up front. I remember suddenly that view being blocked by a figure. A dark shadow like figure. No face, no features. just a silouhette standing outside the RV. I knew it was looking at me. All sound seemed to cease in that moment and was replaced by a high pitch whine, not unlike a radio wave. I screamed. I ran away. I was so scared that I refused to go back into the camper for years. In fact, even when I got older I was still scared of it. Even when my grandparents eventually got rid of it, I never forgot what happened. I don't remember if Julie seen it or not. She acted like she hadn't, but knew how afraid it made me. I had no idea what it was that I saw, but I felt so much dread that I had to flee. At eight years old, what child realizes what terror is? All these years later, the dark still scares me. I think back over moments in my life where these strange, supernatural moments have occured. I remember the dark figure I once saw crouched in the corner of my room when I was seven. I screamed wildly and still remember it. It was the dark figure. I pray to God to protect me. It's honestly all I can do. I feel that there are so many other instances of this "shadow" that I have repressed. It always seems to be waiting, only visible in the corner of my eye. Waiting in the darkness. Floating by into doors and through walls. Always at a distance. An omnious and unwanted spector. Two days ago, I saw it again. | 
