The Solid Form of Fear

Being afraid, being scared, that's not fear to me.
Afraid that someone you love or your precious things or maybe your freedom would slip away from you before you know it.
Bless those who scared the soul out of them because of those things.
Left behind and deserted by your well-known friend.
Dark places and eerie sounds around, Zombies popping out from the grave.
That's not what fear looks like.
Extreme height, maybe?
Thrown from a sixty-stories high apartment by a jealous lover.
Shot at a point-blank range with a .40 cal.
It's too nice to be called fear.
Imagine a box. Simple wooden box.
Engraved with "memories" on it.
And someone accidentally opened it.
Then, fear would come out from that opened box.
The real form of fear.
Solid, lucid, Touchable.
Pure fear.
Pure hatred.
Why hatred?

We all hate to fear.