I spend a lot of time worrying about things that aren’t going to happen and significantly less about things that don’t. I grew up in a small town with a good reputation, but my house was robbed when I was pretty young. They mostly took a bunch of junk and didn’t do any damage–we’d left the door unlocked and they made off with a TV, some jewelry, and some cash.
But I don’t worry about that. I probably should, but instead I worry about everything else. My ceiling caving in, my cats getting into something they shouldn’t, leaving the stove on. It doesn’t matter that none of that is likely to happen (at least not to a serious degree), I still somehow fear it more than something that has actually happened to me.
I think that’s exactly it. I lived through a robbery, so what else do I have to fear? But these other things are (mostly) unexplored, mostly unknown. I know that a robbery isn’t the end of the world, but I have no idea about the rest of these things and I hopefully never well. I’ll just keep dreading them.
Anyway, here’s a drabble.
(n.) Greek harpax for “robber” and -phobia for “fear of”
A fear of robbers.
From a young age, Raven has heard that it’s in her blood. She knows it to be true because she aces every test they give her—she can sneak anything to and from anyone’s pocket and fit into any space. She’s done it before, she’ll do it again, because it’s what puts bread on the table.
But she sees the lines carved deep in her mother’s face, the way her father drinks a little more every night, the way they all flinch when a constable walks by. Her life stretches out in front of her and every inch is fear.