Post by Agano on Jan 29, 2008 0:33:37 GMT -5
I was writing a paper on fears, and came across an interesting one : Agoraphobia. The fear of going outside. For some reson this little scene popped into my head. I wrote it in like ten minutes and don't have time to edit now, so it's not the best of stories.
It's dangerous business, setting foot outside your front door, Frodo. Was that how Tolkien said it? Did it matter? Was it true?
Jarod was at a crossroads. He knew what was out there, but he couldn't force himself to make that first step. To get out. To be free. He hated the walls of his house, their rust-orange walls laughed at him. Every day. For three years.
His hand hovered over the doorknob to the front door, trying to bring himself to even touch it. Three years, and he can't even touch the doorknob to his own house. Never mind the fact that he has millions of times before, when Mrs. Anderson from next door came over to drop off his week's supply of groceries. He even could open the door to mow his lawn, get his paper, or water the flowers in the little pot next to his window. But when it came to going outside for the sake of going outside, Jarod was stuck.
“Have no fear, Superman is here,” Jarod whispered to himself, not realizing it. Something about that phrase soothed his nerves a bit, so he often muttered it when he was nervous. And this was about as nerve-wracking is it got. He dropped his hand.
"Tomorrow. I'll go outside tomorrow. I'll drive the car. I'll see that new part of downtown they built last month. Maybe I'll see a movie there.” Yeah. That sounded like a good idea. Tomorrow. Not today. No, today he would stay inside. Where it's safe. Where there was nothing that could go wrong, nothing bad could happen.
“Have no fear, Superman is here.” An unpleasant feeling knotted the pit of his stomach. Go outside tomorrow? A part of his brain shouted that was a bad idea. In fact, it was the same part that told him not to go outside today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Or the three years before that. Why go outside when you have everything here? Where it's safe?
The accident had been three years ago. A head-on collision with a drunk driver which had broken Jarod's legs and a hip. They had taken six months to mend, and he had been house ridden until they healed, bound to a wheelchair and unable to leave.
When the casts finally came off, Jarod found he was making excuses not to drive his car. It was normal, the doctors had told him. Called it 'post traumatic stress'. It would wear off in time. But instead it had gotten worse. He couldn't leave his property line anymore. He had tried it once, two years ago. He had gotten past the front door and all the way to the edge of the grass before he stopped, just looking at the sidewalk and trying to make himself take that last step. The neighbors said he stood there for four hours, but to Jarod it felt like years. Just standing there, studying the cracks in the sidewalk and wondering why he was so afraid of it. Wondering why every time the thought of the world outside his little slice of protection his stomach would knot up and make him want to vomit.
“Have no fear. Superman was here.” He walked back over to his couch and sat down, staring at the blank television. It had taken the doctor a while to come the second time, after the sidewalk incident. Seemed that in this new age of technology, they don't do house-calls very often. Agoraphobia, he called it that time. Not as normal, but still temporary. Would wear off in time. Right.
The little voice in his head spoke up again, consoling him for his inability to open the door. It was alright, it said, the world out there is dangerous anyways. You could walk out that door and get hit by another drunk driver. And this time you wouldn't have a car to protect you either. Then it would just be Jarod, the bloodstain on the street.
Jarod sighed, looking at the mocking orange walls again. He hated that color. Maybe next week when Mrs. Anderson goes to get groceries, she could pick up some paint too. A nice soft blue. Or maybe a light green.
“Have no fear. Super Sam was here.”
No. This was the day he went outside. He had said so yesterday. And the day before. You keep putting it off, he told himself, and then you'll never do it. He stood up and walked the long walk to the front door.
What are you doing?! the little voice cried out, This is a Bad Idea! A Really Bad Idea! You could get hurt! You could die! Who knows whats out there! Stay here where it's safe!
“Have no fear. Super Sam was near.”
Jarod lifted his hand hovering over the knob again. His stomach knotted, wanting to listen to the voice. Wanting to go sit back down on the old couch, watch some TV, and forget about the outside world.
Bad stuff happens out there, the voice pleaded, Rapists and murderers. Thieves and bullies. Drunk drivers. Bad Stuff.
His hand touched the cold brass of the doorknob. He was going to do this. He was going to be free.
“Have your fear. Super Sam was near.”
His hand turned slowly, as though in molasses. He heard the latch click open, and the sound reverberated in his head like a sonic boom. He pulled the door inward and let it go, the creak of the hinges echoing through the old house like a bomb shell. Sunlight burst through the open doorway, bathing the wooden floor panels with its healthy glow.
He was going to go outside. He was resolute about that. He took a step. His shoe touched down on the concrete porch outside.
Good work Jarod! The little voice screamed in a panic, You're outside! Now let's turn around and go back to the couch, where it's safe.
Jarod ignored it. He took another step, propelling his body onto the lawn. The voice remained silent. He was able to get all the way to the edge of the lawn before he stopped, leaving him in the same position he had been in before, staring at the sidewalk.
“Halve your fear. Super Sam was near.”
What are you going to do now? The little voice whispered evilly. We both know you are not going to take that step. And if you did, where would you go? Right back into the house, that's where. You got nowhere else to go.
Mrs. Anderson. The name rang out in his clouded mind like a bell. That's where he'll go. He'll go see Mrs. Anderson.
His stomach revolted, forcing its contents up his throat and out onto the pavement below. An intense wave of panic gripped him.
You see that? The little voice had grown stronger, and began to sound like his mother. You see that? You went outside and now you're dieing. That's what happens to little boys who go outside. They die. They vomit and vomit and then get killed by drunk drivers.
“Have no fear, Superman is here.”
No. Mrs. Anderson. He had to see Mrs. Anderson. He lifted his foot, though it weighed like a stack of bricks. Mrs. Anderson. He pushed it forward, careful to overstep the pool of puke.
You're going to die, Jarod. Don't do it or you'll die.
Mrs. Anderson.
You'll die before you get there.
Mrs. Anderson. He let his foot fall, stomping hard onto the pavement. Onto the sidewalk. Onto the outside.
The voice stopped. His second foot moved much easier, and settled next to the first. Oh yes, It was dangerous business, setting foot outside your front door, Mr. Frodo, but much worse not to. His feet resumed their normal gait, carrying him down the side walk to the house next door. He was outside.
“Have no fear. I am here.”
It's dangerous business, setting foot outside your front door, Frodo. Was that how Tolkien said it? Did it matter? Was it true?
Jarod was at a crossroads. He knew what was out there, but he couldn't force himself to make that first step. To get out. To be free. He hated the walls of his house, their rust-orange walls laughed at him. Every day. For three years.
His hand hovered over the doorknob to the front door, trying to bring himself to even touch it. Three years, and he can't even touch the doorknob to his own house. Never mind the fact that he has millions of times before, when Mrs. Anderson from next door came over to drop off his week's supply of groceries. He even could open the door to mow his lawn, get his paper, or water the flowers in the little pot next to his window. But when it came to going outside for the sake of going outside, Jarod was stuck.
“Have no fear, Superman is here,” Jarod whispered to himself, not realizing it. Something about that phrase soothed his nerves a bit, so he often muttered it when he was nervous. And this was about as nerve-wracking is it got. He dropped his hand.
"Tomorrow. I'll go outside tomorrow. I'll drive the car. I'll see that new part of downtown they built last month. Maybe I'll see a movie there.” Yeah. That sounded like a good idea. Tomorrow. Not today. No, today he would stay inside. Where it's safe. Where there was nothing that could go wrong, nothing bad could happen.
“Have no fear, Superman is here.” An unpleasant feeling knotted the pit of his stomach. Go outside tomorrow? A part of his brain shouted that was a bad idea. In fact, it was the same part that told him not to go outside today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Or the three years before that. Why go outside when you have everything here? Where it's safe?
The accident had been three years ago. A head-on collision with a drunk driver which had broken Jarod's legs and a hip. They had taken six months to mend, and he had been house ridden until they healed, bound to a wheelchair and unable to leave.
When the casts finally came off, Jarod found he was making excuses not to drive his car. It was normal, the doctors had told him. Called it 'post traumatic stress'. It would wear off in time. But instead it had gotten worse. He couldn't leave his property line anymore. He had tried it once, two years ago. He had gotten past the front door and all the way to the edge of the grass before he stopped, just looking at the sidewalk and trying to make himself take that last step. The neighbors said he stood there for four hours, but to Jarod it felt like years. Just standing there, studying the cracks in the sidewalk and wondering why he was so afraid of it. Wondering why every time the thought of the world outside his little slice of protection his stomach would knot up and make him want to vomit.
“Have no fear. Superman was here.” He walked back over to his couch and sat down, staring at the blank television. It had taken the doctor a while to come the second time, after the sidewalk incident. Seemed that in this new age of technology, they don't do house-calls very often. Agoraphobia, he called it that time. Not as normal, but still temporary. Would wear off in time. Right.
The little voice in his head spoke up again, consoling him for his inability to open the door. It was alright, it said, the world out there is dangerous anyways. You could walk out that door and get hit by another drunk driver. And this time you wouldn't have a car to protect you either. Then it would just be Jarod, the bloodstain on the street.
Jarod sighed, looking at the mocking orange walls again. He hated that color. Maybe next week when Mrs. Anderson goes to get groceries, she could pick up some paint too. A nice soft blue. Or maybe a light green.
“Have no fear. Super Sam was here.”
No. This was the day he went outside. He had said so yesterday. And the day before. You keep putting it off, he told himself, and then you'll never do it. He stood up and walked the long walk to the front door.
What are you doing?! the little voice cried out, This is a Bad Idea! A Really Bad Idea! You could get hurt! You could die! Who knows whats out there! Stay here where it's safe!
“Have no fear. Super Sam was near.”
Jarod lifted his hand hovering over the knob again. His stomach knotted, wanting to listen to the voice. Wanting to go sit back down on the old couch, watch some TV, and forget about the outside world.
Bad stuff happens out there, the voice pleaded, Rapists and murderers. Thieves and bullies. Drunk drivers. Bad Stuff.
His hand touched the cold brass of the doorknob. He was going to do this. He was going to be free.
“Have your fear. Super Sam was near.”
His hand turned slowly, as though in molasses. He heard the latch click open, and the sound reverberated in his head like a sonic boom. He pulled the door inward and let it go, the creak of the hinges echoing through the old house like a bomb shell. Sunlight burst through the open doorway, bathing the wooden floor panels with its healthy glow.
He was going to go outside. He was resolute about that. He took a step. His shoe touched down on the concrete porch outside.
Good work Jarod! The little voice screamed in a panic, You're outside! Now let's turn around and go back to the couch, where it's safe.
Jarod ignored it. He took another step, propelling his body onto the lawn. The voice remained silent. He was able to get all the way to the edge of the lawn before he stopped, leaving him in the same position he had been in before, staring at the sidewalk.
“Halve your fear. Super Sam was near.”
What are you going to do now? The little voice whispered evilly. We both know you are not going to take that step. And if you did, where would you go? Right back into the house, that's where. You got nowhere else to go.
Mrs. Anderson. The name rang out in his clouded mind like a bell. That's where he'll go. He'll go see Mrs. Anderson.
His stomach revolted, forcing its contents up his throat and out onto the pavement below. An intense wave of panic gripped him.
You see that? The little voice had grown stronger, and began to sound like his mother. You see that? You went outside and now you're dieing. That's what happens to little boys who go outside. They die. They vomit and vomit and then get killed by drunk drivers.
“Have no fear, Superman is here.”
No. Mrs. Anderson. He had to see Mrs. Anderson. He lifted his foot, though it weighed like a stack of bricks. Mrs. Anderson. He pushed it forward, careful to overstep the pool of puke.
You're going to die, Jarod. Don't do it or you'll die.
Mrs. Anderson.
You'll die before you get there.
Mrs. Anderson. He let his foot fall, stomping hard onto the pavement. Onto the sidewalk. Onto the outside.
The voice stopped. His second foot moved much easier, and settled next to the first. Oh yes, It was dangerous business, setting foot outside your front door, Mr. Frodo, but much worse not to. His feet resumed their normal gait, carrying him down the side walk to the house next door. He was outside.
“Have no fear. I am here.”