If there were 37 bears I would not have been more threatened than by the one who was currently in my room. Actually, with 37 bears I might have a chance of escaping the bedlam unnoticed, but with one there was nothing to distract it other than the mild confusion I'm sure both of us felt. Probably extreme confusion on the bear's part, but bears are adaptable. I am just used to this.
I had gone to sleep peacefully enough, but every time I do it seems I wake to another threat having been magically ripped from the ether. My worry seems to keep them away. My mind acts as a subconscious barrier preventing their formation, or whatever fashion they are summoned in. It is only when I somehow ease myself into believing that everything will be O.K. that another terror slips through my defenses to remind me that it won't. The fooling is important however; the idea that the reward for overcoming fear is an eternity of successively bigger fears could be considered disheartening on a bad day.
At least I knew what a bear was. There had been a few instances of creatures I didn't even recognize opening their multitude of eyes in unison with my own. Not that this made them any more or less dangerous of course. Familiar or not, a rhesus monkey with a gun is going to cause damage and concern. For the detail orientated, I am not a gun expert and do not recall the make and model of said gun, merely which garden gnome it is hidden under.
Perhaps one day I will wake up to a bed-full of chocolate bars, a roll of ten dollar bills on my chest or even just plain ducks. For now, it's time to deal with this bear. My mind is already thinking about where to bury the body. I am briefly prideful of this can-do attitude as I leap from under the covers ready to face another day. Bring it.
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