An Errant Entry: What do I fear?

My kids asked me last night what I feared. When they asked me I found that I couldn't even look them in the eye. I couldn't tell them 'nothing' as badly as the word wanted to escape my tongue. My daughters big green eyes alive and waiting. My son silent in the night.

"What are you afraid of Mommy?"

What I am afraid of I can't even think about. I can't let it enter my mind, because the fear consumes me until I panic. I feel like if I think it, it will happen. What you fear you create. I don't want to create my own fears. They are too despicable to face, to look in the eye, to feel. I just want to fight and destroy them.

I can't write them on paper. I can't let them slip from my fingers and bleed into ink. To do so makes it concrete. Evident. Inescapable. So what do I say when they ask me what I'm afraid of?

"Go to sleep darlings. It's none of your concern. You're alright and safe. There is nothing to be scared of?"

What I didn't, what I couldn't and cannot say.

"The monsters are too big to call out."