126-word post, or “Nesmith Had A Very Specific Phobia”

Nesmith had a very specific phobia. It was ridiculous, really, but none of his expensive therapists had heard of anything like it.

Nesmith was afraid his bed would become a time-portal from which an old western sheriff would appear. He would resemble Sam Elliot, only with the body of an ostrich wearing platform shoes. It would ask for directions, whereupon he’d panic and bludgeon it to death. The police not find a body; rather they would find that Nesmith had simply shit the bed in his sleep. The story would go viral and he’d have to get a new identity in a new town.

His fear stemmed from an overactive imagination, he knew it. Still, it had happened once before, and once bitten, twice something something.

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