Protection

I hear them outside.

Their footsteps blend with the wind to try and disguise themselves, but I hear them. Right outside my window on the second floor, they whistle softly but just precisely enough for only me to hear. That thing out there, probably big and tall, wants to get me, but it can't because I'm in here.

Dark shadows shade my palace of walls, but the darkness is alive. They want to eat me up just like the outside, but it is careful not to expose themselves in your sight. It waits and watches for you to let down your guard and then takes you forever.

Loud banging on my door, "Let me in," it howls and growls, shaking the walls and hurting my eardrums. I won't do it; I'm not scared of it, but I won't let it in; I'm not a little girl hiding under the bed, waiting to be taken away.

"You can't come in," I scream right back. I scream at the footsteps, I scream at the shadows, I scream at the knocking on my door; I dare them to get in here with me, and they'll see what they're in for.

I'm the big scary monster that they don't want released. I will blow down houses and eat whatever blocks my path. Pain and fear, I thrive within them, and you think that you scare me. I chuckle at the thought. I'm the definition of the word scary.

Outside of this place I am in are bad things that want me. I'm not running from them, but I refuse to let them in. Never make the first move and give away your upper hand; do nothing, and maybe they'll disappear.

Or maybe they'll all crash in at once, but if they do, I'll fight and fight, and I won't give up.

I hear them outside, inside, in every corner of my mind.