There was a time when I was afraid of the long-clawed monster whose postal address was the space below my bed. I feared bending down from my bed, lest should the monster catch me.
But now, on nights like these, I find the space below my bed far more comforting than the bed itself. Not that I no longer believe that a monster stays that. It is just that when given an option between the world and the monster under the bed, I choose the one less evil.


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