Fear

The dark is not to be feared.

The night is not to be feared.

Dark figures with sharp knives and killer instincts are not to be feared.

Men with blades of death and blood on their breath are not to be feared.

Women who come in the night to slide bright blades down rosy flesh are not to be feared.

Battles fought and wars won on the bodies of the fighters are not to be feared.

The things feared in this world are big and bad, flashes of death accompanied by loud bangs and screams and terror living in the eyes of those who survive; dark and dangerous and black as the night when even the moon abandons the world. The gore and glory of a death that marks the life of another is the fear of those who walk the mortal plane.

What they should fear is the quiet sunlight death, sliding beneath the cool waters with hardly a ripple. A fall stealing the breath from the lungs of the faller, too quick to allow a cry. The death that happens when poison reaches the heart of the victim, quietly stealing away the lifeblood of the one consuming it.

What should be most feared is the quiet stealing of the final breath. The life lived to completion with those around abandoning the old for new.

The finest assassins in this world do not kill by knife or bomb or gun or blaze of glory. They steal the lives of their targets, grabbing what little time they have with a gentle and insidious hand.

The biggest thing to fear is time. The grandest thief and assassin of all. Time who steals lives and time and kills in silent glory.

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