There is a light at the end of the tunnel. It's tiny, and sometimes it's hard to see it, but it's there. Down here, where the sun gave up 500 feet ago, there's still a little speck in the darkness. You've seen it before. It was a friendly speck. It danced around in the water, and it told you things. It spoke of a perfect world, a place where everyone's equal, healthy and wealthy, and the people in charge really do care. It spoke of a world of contentment; of symmetry, beauty, and no crime. No problems.
What do they do with the problems? Dr. Israel knows. He takes the problems and locks them up in bedrooms that could better be described as cells. He straps them to machines and shocks them until they learn to keep their mouths shut. The Colonel knew. He got his problem to sign a contract for 33 films. By the end of it, there was no spirit left in the boy. Hitler knew. He took the problems and worked them to death. The ones that survived got sent to the showers and doused in Zyklon B. Insecticide.
You've got to know where to bury your problems. You have to make sure it's nice and deep. If you can't manage that, you've got to curse the site. The idea is to scare off grave robbers. Let enough of those types parade the limp, festering corpse around, and maybe it'll come back to life. And you don't want that. So keep them away from the body. Distract them with music and television and fashion. Distract them with cars and sex but don't let them have any fun with them. Fun makes a mess. That's a new problem, and you don't want any more of those.
Maybe you listened to the light. Or maybe you noticed the jaws behind it.
He wrote for phobia, so why not
:yoinked:
Creepy, Unq.
The angler fish is a powerful spirit indeed.