Journal # 5 Personification of an Abstract Noun

Journal # 5 Personification of an Abstract Noun Chapter 8

Then Tyler began to wrestle with Fear. Fear, that hideous thing with monstrous jaws, residing in the deepest depths of the human psyche. The hunched one who stays in the prostrated palace with the twisted trapdoors and the screaming slaves. What does Fear need to do to protect itself, what attacks can affect it? It crafts in its savage abode, using the world as it's puppet. Gazes piercing and still all the time, with his jaws held tight in suspense, waiting for the right time to strike at the heart of man. Been drooling there since before there was a where or a when or a then. He was dreading the day that scaly letter came from the Pennsylvania Penitentiary. He was hoping and praying that the day wouldn't come. Poor Thomas! He needn't have to sit in that tiny cell alone, waiting his inevitable sentence. Tyler sent magazines and books in, but they just came right back out. The meaningless drab of literature won't help with my dilemma, they don't know how I feel. I'll be alright as soon as this stupid smack kicks in. The sentence probably won't be carried on with anyways, they know it's just a mistake. At least that's what Thomas thought. But history told Tyler differently, he knew that death sentences were never withdrawn. And if he hadn't known this, Thomas's letters to him would have told him this, for he wrote how the guards came by his cell every day at noon and laughed and ridiculed him under the cement ceiling and through the metal bars. Guards who were usually quite quiet and unassuming came to mock and jeer at Thomas. They just came over and joined the rest in their horrible chanting of death. Hopelessness had began it's slow stalking into Thomas's mind, the battle was already lost.