I had a bad dream last night.

Gagged, shackled, and blindfolded, I hear the cries of others, young and old. I feel my own cries, but the gag is too tight for any sound to emerge.

For hours, I lie still, afraid to move. My arthritic knees scream to escape this confinement, but I am afraid.

My mind flees into a memory.

A memory of a sermon — about fear. I do not remember when, or who, but the words appear in my mind. Fear Not. Do not be Afraid.

Fear Not.

But I have experienced so much pain, dishonesty, and oppression.                                            It fills me with a blinding panic.

Do not be Afraid.

But I am only safe when hidden in my locked house.

Fear Not.

But I have no voice. I keep it quiet to protect me.

Do not be Afraid.

I hear it, and think, Fear Not, and I open my eyes.