He looked for his fear, everywhere. He couldn't find it, eight legs and all. Maybe he is waiting to startle me. Maybe he is plotting to kill me. Maybe he has become so big that he has moved somewhere else. Maybe he has gone to bring more like him to torment me. His fears grew by the minute. He started to panic. He longed to see his fear. He realized, facing fear was better than fearing it.
Looks like the fog just spared my window to the street. The street lights looked liking smokers in an alley. The cobble stones were wet from the drizzle. The street dogs were busy barking at something. A breeze just unsettled the garbage can's lid. My world hasn't changed much. Everyday I look for some sign of change. Nothing seems to change. I have grown bald. My eyesight has dimmed. My kids have grown. The window pane has gathered dust and dirt. The spiders have evolved. Some old buildings have given way to new ones. The neon signs have gone. Still nothing seem to have changed. Change they say has to come from within. But then, what can come out of an empty narrow dead end?
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