FlashFictions

She had only just discovered the meaning of the word 'phobia', and she already had four. Earlier that day Linda's daughter, in an embarrassing, knowledge-based role reversal, explained that a phobia was an extreme fear of something.

"Mum, a phobia is an extreme fear of something. Like the dark. Or heights." She explained.

Within a half hour of her phobia enlightenment, Linda was already stood on tiptoes in the middle of her kitchen. Atop a chair. (Wouldn't a stool be a cliché?) Three minutes ago, she'd spotted a mouse running along the skirting board. A scream, and a truly impressive leap later, she had found her first phobia. It took mere seconds to find her second.

She was less than two feet off the ground, yet she couldn't force herself to look down at the floor. Hadn't her daughter mentioned heights as an example? Well this was more than that. This was real!

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It’s dark and feels like the walls are closing in. There’s a word for it. Claustrophobia, that’s it. I’m a prisoner in this confined space. Here not of my free will, but trapped by forces stronger than me.

I’ve been here for days, it seems. I tried to get out at first but all I managed to do was turn the world head over heels. When I finally got myself the right way up again I decided it was safer to wait it out. They’ll have to come back for me eventually. Won’t they?

It’s been ages, and nothing. I’m going to have to try again on my own. I’ll take it slower this time. When I reach out I find the wall very close in front of me. It makes a scratchy sound when I touch it. Plus it’s got some give. When I push gently, it kind of bends outwards from me. I try the other walls. All the same thing.

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