The Dark

You know, I pride myself on being a brave woman. Truly. I fantasize about being in dangerous situations and taking the bullet for a family member or kicking the living shit out of some bad guy with my bare hands or, even better, a baseball bat. However, when I am by myself, in the dark, outside, every single horror movie I have seen comes roaring to life in my memory and a little voice inside my head says "Don't look behind you, you skinny, defenseless, little woman." And I reply, out loud, "No shit! I'm getting the hell outta here!". That is about when I break into a run that would put Jesse James to shame, reach my destination, slam the door behind me, and continue on with my life like nothing happened.
The fight or flight experience is truly marvelous. Every trivial care, like tripping on unseen obstacles or dead bodies, stepping on a slug, or running into the actual monster is no longer an issue. The only issue is reaching safety. I swear it is the anticipation of something to fear that is the worst. Once you are truly wigged out, it doesn't matter what is coming after you, or if there is anything at all. The hormones are now like beer on tap, flooding a biker bar right along with the leather and ass-less chaps.
Now, when I am with a friend, I instantly turn on my "protection" mode. Nothing can touch us. I  will protect us. You want to take a walk in the dark in a sketchy neighborhood? Sure! You want to walk deep in the woods without flashlights wearing meat helmets? Hell yeah! We have nothing to worry about. Whatever we come across, I can handle. Somehow, I know that when the shit hits the fan, I will be able to protect my friend. I have that instinct. Perhaps destiny. However, if I was placed in that same situation...alone, I would have soiled myself yesterday.
Perhaps one day I will get my chance to kick the ass of the cougar attacking my friend, wrestling with it for awhile, and finally stabbing it in the eye with a stick. My friend would be minorly injured and my fierce bravery would be known to all woodland creatures for generations to come. And then the next day, walking alone, I would get attacked by some punk raccoon and my dead body would be found three weeks later, half eaten by rodents and a random snail population.

In all seriousness, the death of Dwight Clark has struck a tone of fear into my adrenal glands. I want a knife for my birthday for my protection. If you happen to come upon me in the night, alone, I will scream and run like hell. If you make the stupid decision to approach me when I'm walking with my friends, I will turn and stab you in the neck. Ye be warned.