Monstee under my bed


When I was younger, I used to make my parents check under my bed for monsters. Although they didn't want to, they would do it just to make me feel better. After checking underneath my bed and searching through my closet, they would look at me and say, “Monsters don't exist, silly”, and for most of my life, I believed them. That was until the 6th grade, when I saw a monster with my own two eyes. It was ugly and horrid. It had fangs and claws and gruesome scars. Just the sight of it was enough to send chills down my spine. It began to follow me everywhere I went. The face of the monster became permanently ingrained into my brain. It poisoned my dreams and plagued my thoughts. I was petrified of this monster and I ran and hid from it for as long as I could remember. Once the stay at home order was issued however, I found that I can no longer run, and there was nowhere to hide. I had to face it. I had to try and talk to it. I had to try and understand it. I needed to know what it wanted and why it had been following me for so long. Eventually, I got to know the monster. As crazy as it seems, I found that I could relate to most of its struggles. We became pretty close actually, and today I would consider it to be one of my dearest friends. I feel so stupid now for judging the monster solely off of its horrid appearance. And with every passing day, that hideous monster looks less and less like a monster and more and more human, more and more like you and I. It fangs, claws, and scars were replaced with hair, hands, and a heart. I regret running and hiding from that monster for all those years. She didn't want to hurt me, as I once had thought. She needed a friend. She needed to be understood. And now that everything is clear, I am no longer terrified of my image in the mirror.

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