I am that which makes you cower in the face of danger. When you walk in the night, I delight in painting the most horrific pictures in your mind. My food is knowing how weak and fragile you are in the face of danger. I am what controls the image of the devil walking behind you at night. I take delight in seeing you in front of your computer screen watching horror movies. It is then that you are most susceptible to my manipulations. 

I am that which makes you afraid of sleeping alone in the dark for fear of being kidnapped by the unknown. And even in your dreams, I am sure to make your most horrific imagination come to life.

I am that which makes you shy away from taking risks. I I'm the voice of reason that makes you choose to abstain from making progress, both in your private life, in your work life and in your life within the society. I am the voice that whispers, 'no don't do it', 'it is too risky', when opportunities come your way. I am the voice that tells you you will experience loss if you take that action today. I am the voice that tells you to do it tomorrow when the odds of success might be better. I am the voice of procrastination when opportunity abounds.

I am the reason why most of my victims make no progress in life. I would rather they calculate the odds and advantages before making any decision. And I would always ensure that the odds outweigh the advantages. Perhaps they did not realise that I paint the impossible pictures of failure to make them desist from taking that life-changing action. Yes, I am the reason why you fail to make that important decision that affects your future.

I am the reason why you you will never be able to look your audience in the eye while speaking to them. The reason why you forget all you have practiced when presenting that seminar. And in case you wonder why you are more eloquent when standing in front of your mirror but find it hard to address the public on the simplest topic, know today that I am the one who has made it so.

Each day I grow, I feed and I make my nest in your mind. Some have learnt the art of suppressing me. When I manifest myself, when I begin to paint the impossible scenarios in their mind, they fight back. I do not know how they do it but they make sure to achieve the opposite of the bad scenarios I paint in their mind. From them I flee, because they allow me no chance of survival. I am but a motivation to them to do better. But to you I cling, because not only do I survive, I grow to great height.

Until you learn to fight back, until you learn to suppress me, I will forever direct the course of your life, and by the time you realise the damage I have done it would have been too late to make a

mends.Before it starts, there is always the smile, the veil covering the stain or do I say, the sheep skin cloaking the fox. There is always the sweet display of affection, in the shadow of which is laced with an invisible poison. The melodious laughter, the gifts, the kind words, memories of which excites and makes you want to walk down the aisle.
And just after you walk that road, the breeze starts to blow. It first blows on the veil, revealing a tiny speck of stain. And then you think it is nothing.
"It is but a tiny speck of stain", you say, "just a little soap here and a squeeze and it will be gone."
And then you wash and squeeze, and the breeze continues to blow, and the stain continues to increase, and your fingers begin to weary.
People will tell you to keep washing, stain will eventually go. After all, they washed theirs and the stains are gone. Others will tell you to stop washing, to discard this soiled cloak and move on. They will remind you that the breeze will continue to blow and more stain will be revealed. The more you wash the more you will realize they are indelible. But oh, who are they to advise you? Well they cloth you if you throw away this one? And so you continue to wash.
You hear stories of other people in your shoe whose strengths had failed and are now eternally naked. You need no prophet to tell you that the stains they tried so hard to remove are still there. Perhaps you continue to wash because "the stains they tried to wash off are different from yours. Yours will eventually go away and the true beauty of your cloak will eventually shine through". So you continue to wash.

Maybe one day, another breeze will reveal the most horrific stain, and your strength will be drained, leaving your fingers lifeless. You will wish you had listened to the people you thought never cared, the people you may have cut off because they told you the stain was indelible. But it will be too late.
You realize you had lived a life of delusion, and that the stains you tried so hard to remove will be covered again with another veil, in search of another to deceive.
Your lifeless finger may or may not be a warning to others who weary themselves trying to wash out the indelible stains on their once beautiful cloak, the stains revealed by the breeze.