I’m locked in a space so small I can’t even move my fingers. It’s so dark that if I could move my hand, I wouldn’t be able to see it in front of my face. Poisonous spiders crawl all over me, and I know one of them is bound to bite me soon. Does the thought of this scare me? Yes, to a degree, but what scares me more is what comes after dying. Not the prospect of going through heavenly gates or being condemned to hell, but the thought of being forgotten. I have the fear that when someone finally opens that locked door, and finds me inside, dead, there will be a minimal amount of remorse for my soul.
I may be young, but I already have a pretty good idea that my picture will never be published in a history book or glossy magazine spread, and when I die there will be few who care, and even fewer who continue to care.
I’m scared that as my body starts to rot in a dark coffin buried under piles of dirt that life will go on. I’m terrified that I’ll be mentioned less and less, until nobody remembers me at all.
My greatest fear is living an average life.