Jaws ★★★★

Mere seconds after hitting play, I was plunged into terror. I turned to my flatmate who’s jaw dropped. Apt I thought to myself, only for this moment of quiet, private amusement to be shattered as he leapt back from me. He looked aghast over my shoulder. “SPIDER!” My eyes widened. I too jolted from the couch like a shot. The arachnid intruder lay inches from where I too had laid. The biggest blackest spider I’d seen in a while. Shock subsided and instinct took hold. I reached for the closest, thickest letter I could locate. At first I couldn’t see it, but then I spied the spider. I smote the beast until all that was left was a curled ball resembling a tiny clenched fist of fragile, wiry fingers. 

Little did I know that fear lurked behind me. Only the fright of another alerted me to its proximity. When I couldn’t see it, I was petrified. Then when I confronted it, the urge for control spurred me towards animalistic attack. Then, even after it’s demise, that spider haunted me with every quiver felt or small shadow seen carrying with it the chance for imminent terror. Utterly on edge, I watched Jaws. Every moment of tension heightened. Every shock a stunning scare. Every pang of gutter dread an excruciating reminder that fear ultimately makes companions of us all.

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