It’s all a dream, it’s all a dream, Lydia chanted as she got in the cab, staring into her hands—not wondering if her voice was loud enough as she gave the address, music blaring through her headphones like a hurricane, nor looking at the plane as she paid the driver.
A dream, she insisted, while climbing the stairs, noticing the shoes of the other who hooked her into belts and straps.
Finally, when the door opened, she looked—and breathed it in.
All that space, and no one to see her. Not even to dare or tease her.
Grant seemed so alive, vibrant and charming during their face to faces on line. They’d been chatting for over two months. When Iris asked if they could meet in real life, he changed before her very eyes.
Shoulders raised to within inches of his ears. The scowl replacing his bright smile, told her she’d asked too much.
He stammered, “Ah… ah… I guess so. Where and when do you want to meet?”
She’d seen this affliction before. If she wasn’t careful this would be the end of their time together. Maybe they could meet halfway? “How about your place for starters?” Iris asked.
The relief was palpable. Kindness returned to Grants’ features. His eyes had a hint of sparkle in them again. “Really, you don’t mind?”
Iris chuckled. “No, I get it.”
“Get what?” he asked.
“I had agoraphobia for three years. I recognize the signs. It doesn’t last forever, if you don’t want it to.”
“How fast can you get here?” Grant asked.
Iris, wrote down the address. “How about within the hour?” She watched as his expression turned into something else again.
Grant looked afraid again then hesitant. He was searching behind the screen and at appraising his surroundings. “Could you give me two?”
John closed the door as quickly as he opened it. His pale white hands snatched at food delivery and dragged it back into the house. It had been 27 years since he last left the house, and the very thought of stepping outside caused cold sweats. He never left the house, even when his cough first appeared; even when he started to cough blood. He died last week; alone and on a cold kitchen floor. They buried him, even though he wanted to be cremated. He screamed and clawed inside the casket. But no one can hear ghosts.
The ship finally locked into the central hub, slowly adjusting to the spin. The crew disembarked, floating single-file through the bridge and into a scenic terminal. Heads turned. They stared through tubular windows and out into the cavity. The city sprawled around them for miles, dashing their comprehension of distance. A few shut their eyes, their hearts aflutter, but agoraphobia was the price to live in the outer colonies.
They descended, and each second, their feet slowly touched the floor. Soon, they walked the streets, despite the vertiginous lag of centripetal force. But in a matter of days, that would pass as well. Here, civility thrived while the Earth plunged into an age of barbarism.
The room was full of spectacle. One student had hung neon tubes from meat hooks. Another filled her corner with melting plastic dolls. Then there was Aaron: seven blank canvases, arranged in a perfect square, untouched white. No brushstroke, no statement.
The professor circled once, silent. “What is your Title?”
Aaron didn’t blink. “Agoraphobia.”
A pause. Then a slow nod.
Later, someone whispered that the canvases were primed with invisible ink, reactive to open sky. Another swore it was all a dare. Aaron said nothing.
He just watched them stand back—just far enough—to avoid the pull of so much space.
His name was Marvin, but known on the wrestling circuit as “The Bronx Bastard.” He sought out his father in every town they passed through. Freed of the agoraphobia he suffered with only the protection of the rings ropes. This night his opponent was “Disaster Master,” an old wrestler on his way out. The two grappled, matching skill for skill until Marvin unmasked his opponent. Dad? Is it YOU? Disaster put the dumbfounded youth into a spin high over his head, tossing him into the seats below. The walls closed in on poor babbling Marvin, he would wrestle no more!
Tiffany awoke, discovering that her darling, but dimwitted, husband had been busy. The contents of every drawer were strewn everywhere, the closet revealing a disconcerting emptiness.
Bubba grinned proudly beside the bed. She demanded, "What have you done?"
"Doc said you had angoraphobia. Now there's nothing for you to fear!"
Groaning, Tiffany checked the trash, but it was too late. Coffee grounds, peelings, and other detritus had already completely destroyed her beautiful angora dresses and sweaters.
"Oh well," she sighed. "The doctor did recommend that I get out more." Bubba cheerfully took her out shopping to replace the ruined outfits.
Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. I actually thought the prompt was "arachnophobia" for a hot minute, and briefly considered going with that as the misheard word, but since I live with a couple of arachnophobes (I'm Spider Catcher in Chief), I decided it might be best to spare everyone and go with the angora joke instead.
No, it's just the name that attached itself to him. Angora makes me feel itchy, so I don't own any... thank you for the compliment, but it just popped into my head... I crack myself up sometimes. 🤣
Depends on the size of the spiders, was much worse when I was younger. I am truly glad you went with Angora instead. I searched for a twist, Angora escaped me. I love it.
Glen’s daily pacing around his one acre property was stopped by a soft cry from the cornfield. He peered into the stalks. A kitten lying there appeared to be injured. His thoughts were torn. An injured animal needed help. Leaving his property was not a good idea. The need to help. The terror.
Glen stood paralyzed until he heard a saw movement in the corn stalks. His heart beat wildly. Sensing disaster he sped to where the kitten was, picked it up and returned to his property.
“Welcome to my world,” he said. “We will become good friends over here.”
I fear the great, wide open. I didn’t before. In public, in the open, I feel trapped by de novo agoraphobia. Perhaps it’s counterintuitive and paradoxical, but the open is where I have no escape. Escaping to a place with no bounds means only more of it. The wider the space, the tighter the entrapment; the worse the fear; the vulnerability. Now I understand this syndrome—and the anxiety of those who suffer from it. It’ll make someone—with no fear—fear the great, wide open: all that’s needed is to see a sign that says, “WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE.”
Edward was a font of new ideas at the agency. We were awaiting his first good one. He uncorked a proposal at the staff meeting and to the astonishment of all it sounded like a keeper. He looked beseechingly at the boss for affirmation. “What do you think of my proposal, chief?”
The old man indeed had been pleasantly surprised. Shocked even.
“I just hope your idea is not agoraphobic, my boy.”
Edward returned a look of puzzlement.
“It’s a winner, alright. But I fear for it rattling around all alone in there in such a wide and empty expanse.”
Levi loved baseball. The crack of a bat, the smack of a ball slamming into a glove, the roar of the crowd. The damned roar of the crowd. It is why he had never seen a ball game in person. At home, he would cheer along with everyone else. Watching a game on television was easy. Non-threatening. He wished he could feel the breeze crossing left field or even sweat under a hot summer sun bearing down on a ballpark. Alas, his agoraphobic fear always threw him a curveball, causing him to balk, forever striking out on those simple pleasures.
Agoraphobia had never tasted so sweet, Miguel;)
It’s all a dream, it’s all a dream, Lydia chanted as she got in the cab, staring into her hands—not wondering if her voice was loud enough as she gave the address, music blaring through her headphones like a hurricane, nor looking at the plane as she paid the driver.
A dream, she insisted, while climbing the stairs, noticing the shoes of the other who hooked her into belts and straps.
Finally, when the door opened, she looked—and breathed it in.
All that space, and no one to see her. Not even to dare or tease her.
Jump.
I compiled this week's microfictions!
https://rgarron.substack.com/p/microdosing-fiction-entries
Agoraphobia
Grant seemed so alive, vibrant and charming during their face to faces on line. They’d been chatting for over two months. When Iris asked if they could meet in real life, he changed before her very eyes.
Shoulders raised to within inches of his ears. The scowl replacing his bright smile, told her she’d asked too much.
He stammered, “Ah… ah… I guess so. Where and when do you want to meet?”
She’d seen this affliction before. If she wasn’t careful this would be the end of their time together. Maybe they could meet halfway? “How about your place for starters?” Iris asked.
The relief was palpable. Kindness returned to Grants’ features. His eyes had a hint of sparkle in them again. “Really, you don’t mind?”
Iris chuckled. “No, I get it.”
“Get what?” he asked.
“I had agoraphobia for three years. I recognize the signs. It doesn’t last forever, if you don’t want it to.”
“How fast can you get here?” Grant asked.
Iris, wrote down the address. “How about within the hour?” She watched as his expression turned into something else again.
Grant looked afraid again then hesitant. He was searching behind the screen and at appraising his surroundings. “Could you give me two?”
PROMPT: AGORAPHOBIA
THE AGORAPHOBIA
She didn’t want to go outside.
Out into the world.
There were too many people.
Too many eyes waiting to stare at her.
She was comfortable where she was.
She felt safe and secure.
But there was no getting round it.
She was going to have to be born eventually… 👶😎👶
Agoraphobia means fear of the marketplace
In olden Greece,they wouldn't show their face
Because fear is an arrogant ruler
Makes others seem to be much cooler
It makes you stay inside
And does away with all your pride.
A gnawing delusion
That real life is an illusion
For fear takes the front seat
So you dance to it's throbbing beat
Better to sit home alone
And ask everyone to telephone
Or text if you are smart,
Bless your kind heart
To give in to a stay -at -home
With no desire to drive and roam
Leave me alone, they say
And won't let anyone make their day
Leave the TV on
And dine on the sofa alone
Agoraphobia is a fancy name
For anti-socials to have a lame
Excuse to not attend
Dinners or parties of friends.
I think I've covered it very well
Agoraphobia is how you spell
Leave me the hell alone
I just want to stay 🏡 home.
Thank you , Miguel.
Thank you ,Jeannine!
Thank you Scott!
John closed the door as quickly as he opened it. His pale white hands snatched at food delivery and dragged it back into the house. It had been 27 years since he last left the house, and the very thought of stepping outside caused cold sweats. He never left the house, even when his cough first appeared; even when he started to cough blood. He died last week; alone and on a cold kitchen floor. They buried him, even though he wanted to be cremated. He screamed and clawed inside the casket. But no one can hear ghosts.
"STAR CITY" 100MG of Agoraphobia
The ship finally locked into the central hub, slowly adjusting to the spin. The crew disembarked, floating single-file through the bridge and into a scenic terminal. Heads turned. They stared through tubular windows and out into the cavity. The city sprawled around them for miles, dashing their comprehension of distance. A few shut their eyes, their hearts aflutter, but agoraphobia was the price to live in the outer colonies.
They descended, and each second, their feet slowly touched the floor. Soon, they walked the streets, despite the vertiginous lag of centripetal force. But in a matter of days, that would pass as well. Here, civility thrived while the Earth plunged into an age of barbarism.
100mg - Subject is Agoraphobia
___________________________________
Zach hated small spaces. Claustrophobia ruled his life—he avoided tunnels, closets, even crowded buses.
But with his sprained ankle wrapped tight, the elevator was his only option that day.
He pressed the button and stepped inside, heart racing.
Halfway up, it jolted and stopped.
Lights flickered.
Panic swelled in his chest as the walls seemed to close in.
Hours passed.
His breathing grew shallow. He whispered to himself, counting, praying.
Finally, the doors creaked open. Fresh air rushed in. He almost cried—not from fear, but relief.
From now on, no injury would make him choose an elevator again.
100mg of Agoraphobia
The room was full of spectacle. One student had hung neon tubes from meat hooks. Another filled her corner with melting plastic dolls. Then there was Aaron: seven blank canvases, arranged in a perfect square, untouched white. No brushstroke, no statement.
The professor circled once, silent. “What is your Title?”
Aaron didn’t blink. “Agoraphobia.”
A pause. Then a slow nod.
Later, someone whispered that the canvases were primed with invisible ink, reactive to open sky. Another swore it was all a dare. Aaron said nothing.
He just watched them stand back—just far enough—to avoid the pull of so much space.
Aaron nailed it.
Thanks, Jeannie, that was what I was hoping for.
100 Words or Agoraphobia
His name was Marvin, but known on the wrestling circuit as “The Bronx Bastard.” He sought out his father in every town they passed through. Freed of the agoraphobia he suffered with only the protection of the rings ropes. This night his opponent was “Disaster Master,” an old wrestler on his way out. The two grappled, matching skill for skill until Marvin unmasked his opponent. Dad? Is it YOU? Disaster put the dumbfounded youth into a spin high over his head, tossing him into the seats below. The walls closed in on poor babbling Marvin, he would wrestle no more!
Poor Marvin :(
Thank you Izzibella, I’m a fan of your writing. The way you weave your stories is very beautiful and believable!
Thank you so much, Ken
Tiffany awoke, discovering that her darling, but dimwitted, husband had been busy. The contents of every drawer were strewn everywhere, the closet revealing a disconcerting emptiness.
Bubba grinned proudly beside the bed. She demanded, "What have you done?"
"Doc said you had angoraphobia. Now there's nothing for you to fear!"
Groaning, Tiffany checked the trash, but it was too late. Coffee grounds, peelings, and other detritus had already completely destroyed her beautiful angora dresses and sweaters.
"Oh well," she sighed. "The doctor did recommend that I get out more." Bubba cheerfully took her out shopping to replace the ruined outfits.
Wonderful twist, I blinked twice, read on, circled back. Perfect.
Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. I actually thought the prompt was "arachnophobia" for a hot minute, and briefly considered going with that as the misheard word, but since I live with a couple of arachnophobes (I'm Spider Catcher in Chief), I decided it might be best to spare everyone and go with the angora joke instead.
Is that sweet Bubba, Forest’s friend? Loved the wordplay, very clever! And no, I don’t have angoraphbia, so will keep all my sweaters 😄
No, it's just the name that attached itself to him. Angora makes me feel itchy, so I don't own any... thank you for the compliment, but it just popped into my head... I crack myself up sometimes. 🤣
Depends on the size of the spiders, was much worse when I was younger. I am truly glad you went with Angora instead. I searched for a twist, Angora escaped me. I love it.
Thank you, but it just popped into my head all by itself. Bubba's a good guy - he means well, at least.
Paralyzed By Fear
Glen’s daily pacing around his one acre property was stopped by a soft cry from the cornfield. He peered into the stalks. A kitten lying there appeared to be injured. His thoughts were torn. An injured animal needed help. Leaving his property was not a good idea. The need to help. The terror.
Glen stood paralyzed until he heard a saw movement in the corn stalks. His heart beat wildly. Sensing disaster he sped to where the kitten was, picked it up and returned to his property.
“Welcome to my world,” he said. “We will become good friends over here.”
Yay, Glen, you saved the kitten
Glenn is a brave man.
He definitely has a soft heart for animals in danger.
100-word story challenge—Prompt: “AGORAPHOBIA”
I fear the great, wide open. I didn’t before. In public, in the open, I feel trapped by de novo agoraphobia. Perhaps it’s counterintuitive and paradoxical, but the open is where I have no escape. Escaping to a place with no bounds means only more of it. The wider the space, the tighter the entrapment; the worse the fear; the vulnerability. Now I understand this syndrome—and the anxiety of those who suffer from it. It’ll make someone—with no fear—fear the great, wide open: all that’s needed is to see a sign that says, “WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE.”
Once again, Game, Set, Match. or as we say in Germany "Treffer, versenkt." (Hit, sunk).
A guy named Treffer Versenkt is a great character name. I'm stealin' it!
And there it is, the last line that makes it all make sense! 🤣
Edward was a font of new ideas at the agency. We were awaiting his first good one. He uncorked a proposal at the staff meeting and to the astonishment of all it sounded like a keeper. He looked beseechingly at the boss for affirmation. “What do you think of my proposal, chief?”
The old man indeed had been pleasantly surprised. Shocked even.
“I just hope your idea is not agoraphobic, my boy.”
Edward returned a look of puzzlement.
“It’s a winner, alright. But I fear for it rattling around all alone in there in such a wide and empty expanse.”
I liked how he had the only good ideas.
Thx!
That is wonderful twist of agoraphobia. Very clever, Scott.
Thanks, Jay😊
Oh c'mon, Chief, give the poor kid some encouragement! 🤣 Good one, Scott!
Ha, thx. Hey the boss has to go where the prompt takes him lol.
Levi loved baseball. The crack of a bat, the smack of a ball slamming into a glove, the roar of the crowd. The damned roar of the crowd. It is why he had never seen a ball game in person. At home, he would cheer along with everyone else. Watching a game on television was easy. Non-threatening. He wished he could feel the breeze crossing left field or even sweat under a hot summer sun bearing down on a ballpark. Alas, his agoraphobic fear always threw him a curveball, causing him to balk, forever striking out on those simple pleasures.
My wife loved all the basb@ll jargon!