Barry stared at the last note he had written. The graphite from his pencil was angry and dark, swirling and smudging. It was something he was going to put in reference to her page about her fears. For some reason, he had felt compelled to tell this girl he didn't know that he had nightmares about dying, being beaten bloody and senseless. Now he wasn't so sure he wanted to show her that part of him, the side no one knew or cared about. He glanced at her entry.

Dear Journal,

Ya know how when you ask people what their biggest fear is? And most of them say it's spiders, snakes, heights, the dark, etc? I think that's because those are their... I'll call them surface fears. It's the thing you can easily see and assume, it's something most everyone shares. That's what a surface fear is. But then there are soul fears. Those are the things that haunt the nightmares you can't remember in the morning and scare you shitless (excuse my French). Would you like to know my soul fear? It's failing. I don't mean failing a test. That's a surface fear. No, failing is something you can't take extra credit for to fix it. This kind of failing is falling behind and not being able to catch up, no matter how fast you run or how hard you work. It's loosing the will to try anymore and just finding comfort in the fact that at least you were a part of the race. That's what I'm afraid of. Getting too comfortable in my spot in the back of the pack. I want to be up front, in the lead, the best of the best. The perfect life where I have people to lean on and rant to, and a home that's got all I need and enough things that I want. I guess it could also be interpreted as not having a fulfilling life. Either way, that's my soul fear. It terrifies me.

To bed now,
Your favorite writer

Was he willing to tell her about his soul fear? It was nearly the same. Being content with how crappy his life was, being beaten and abused and watching helplessly as his mother went through the same thing. That was not the life he wanted to live. He wanted out of this hellhole, out into the light where he isn't afraid of every shadow. That was what his goal is. He glanced between the journal and his note again. It wouldn't hurt to be honest, he thought as he slid the paper between the pages. Someone ought to know.