Unless we're talking about spiders, typos, or an internet outage, there isn't much that scares me. I take in horror movies and books with eyes wide and palms warm and dry. I'm drawn to the genre I guess because it offers thrills and excitement minus any potential of actually being harmed. I love what peoples' deranged imaginations come up with, all the while knowing that all of it is just that: a product of the mind.
But yesterday I read a story that exceeded what any person could imagine. It seemed preposterous. Incomprehensible. It couldn't be that anyone could dream up such savagery. And I was right. Because, he, the author, didn't. He lived it. And, as he recounted back every minute of it, I sweated, I gripped the binding at both edges until my fingers ached, and I choked on the enormous swelling in my throat. When I finished it, I felt exhausted and shaken.
The book was "Night" by Elie Wiesel. And if you ever want to be truly terrified, you should read it. Actually, either way, you should read it.
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