Journal #7: Pastiche

Finally Billy began to wonder about Fear.  Fear, that terrifying deity with bony, claw-like fingers and a terrifying beaked face that lived somewhere in the dark recesses of man’s mind. The scary and yet fascinating one who was always about, gnawing at any pre-established notions of security. What need had Fear to hide itself, when no man could stand against its chilling power? It floats above the world, bringing worry and guilt to all that walk under it. It was there all the time, in its might, waiting for more to fall once again under its influence. It had been waiting for them for a while, even before they had known that it was completely there. Billy and his friends were likely to find themselves lost to its icy grip one of these days. He was worried about it too. Pity them all! They shouldn’t have wandered off by themselves. He had contacted them, pleaded with them to reconsider, but they had denied his offer to meet up again and again. Their maps were fairly accurate, even if they weren’t perfect. They would find the way back home as long their instructions pointed them in the general direction of civilization. They definitely weren’t going to die. That was what they thought. But Billy’s gut told him differently, and he knew that they had no chance at all. He would know if he was correct soon enough, he figured, for the signs had already started to appear above him. The buzzards, now circling hungrily overhead, had dared to approach him. Circling over him, again and again, waiting. Hopelessness, that vanquishing sword, had finally overshadowed Billy.

I tried to mimic Hurston's style and format while changing the content of the passage.