Each of us fears something. They arise from beliefs ingrained in our minds, the surrounding society, and traumas experienced throughout our lives. Of these, beliefs are perhaps the worst, because they do not necessarily have a rational basis. They just reside freely in the damp, musty corners of our subconscious. Fortunately, fears can be controlled.

  I have spent half my life learning to govern pointless anxieties. But as my reptilian brain took the lead, all the dreads were unleashed. I could almost hear the shackles breaking when the monsters gained their freedom.

  As I sit here at the corner table in this strange café, with a possibly talking cat staring at me unblinkingly with its piercing blue eyes, my terrors race through my nerves. None of them know who has the privilege of this moment, but they all do their best. There is nothing scary about the cat itself – I like cats. But this place, and the way I ended up here, feel like a nightmare.

  I’m fluent in touch typing, so I don't need to look at the keys or the laptop screen all the time while I’m actively producing text. The cat is sitting a few inches away behind the upright screen. It has wrapped its white, brown-tipped tail elegantly around its paws. Its dark ears are awake and alert, and its dignified immobile posture gives the impression of a living statue.

  After the abduction, I wasn't capable of saying a word during the entire trip. And now that I'm sitting here, I still haven't opened my mouth aside from nervous yawning, so eventually the cat seemingly lost its patience and started meowing. On some level, I understood it as if it was speaking my native language. But since that couldn't be possible, my mind filtered it out as noise. But then, as if summoned, a burly, bald man carrying a laptop stepped toward the table. He said that if I wrote down my thoughts, it might help with the tension and loosen my tongue.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Bullshit, I thought.

  But I started writing anyway, and here are my thoughts. If nothing else, this might buy me some time. A moment ago, I caught a glimpse of a creature wearing a chef's hat, which was definitely not human. The creature that is, not the hat. It made me afraid I might end up on the menu. Literally. That's why I feel every keystroke buying me just that many extra seconds.

  Fear is a terrible thing, but hope can be even worse. Fear only shocks you, but hope makes you cling to straws. Especially when your life could be on the line. And because one of those straws might hold, I'll keep tapping away. I dare to look out the window a little better now, even though there is a void behind it. I recognized Saturn from afar through the windows of the ship that brought me here, but now this gas giant almost completely fills the landscape on my right side. It feels somewhat threatening. I look at the planet from the level of its magnificent rings, and I can't quite connect what I see with the intoxicating aroma of coffee that just began to waft into my nose.

  A cup of joe has appeared on the corner of the table.

  The cat purrs, and the burly bald man smiles at me.

  Would I like some sugar?

  Yes, I nod.

  I’m still muted, but I taste the coffee. It's good.

  The cat asks me to finish my writing so I can focus on my coffee, although that shouldn’t be possible. Looks like I can continue breathing even when I'm not writing.

  So till next time, if there is one.

  - Johnny