Fear: Friend or Foe?

Scarlet stood behind the extravagant curtains that led to the stage, surrounded by the other girls clothed in bejeweled ball gowns. Mirrors were posted on every sandstone-tainted wall, where you could find everyone fixing their hair and adjusting the straps on their dresses. One group was holding hands, trying to slow the rush in their hearts.

Scarlet took one look in the mirror at her freckled face and plump body, pinning her short chocolate hair behind her ears and attempting a closed-mouthed smile. She wouldn’t miss the anxiety that her appearance brought her. Maybe after today, she’d look in the mirror with admiration, not revulsion.

A bald man with stubby legs and an earpiece directed everyone into a line based on height. Scarlet found herself slouching in hopes to appear smaller, but even shrunken, she was taller than most. Her arm was pulled to the front of the line, and the man inspected her, taking a long glance, and then nodding promptly.

She faced the curtains, leaning sideways to take a quick peek at the crowd. Her mother and father were stationed in the back seating area, their crystal-white teeth showing through their smiles. At what, she wasn’t sure. It always seemed like their minds were somewhere else.

For some reason Scarlet had expected their hands to fidget, their eyes to close tightly, or even their posture to waver as they waited to see her face and name projected on the big screen. She wouldn’t wish apprehension on anyone, but a part of her wanted her parents to be scared for her, to pray she’d be okay. To know they cared. But they’d had their fear taken away some time ago.

Then it started. The deep, salted voice of the caramel haired woman who she’d watched on television for 15 years, appeared on the intercom. The girls behind her startled, taking deep breaths but not managing to calm themselves. Scarlet was terrified herself, but all she cared about was making sure Atria was managing her nerves. Her short friend who felt miles away from her, who she just wanted to hug tight. But she had to trust that they’d both get through this.

Scarlet looked behind her and smiled down the line, wondering if Atria was doing the same. They had bonded over their hatred of verbal communication, and a part of Scarlet was worried they’d have nothing in common after today.

The man with the headset shoved her to the other side of the curtain as her name was called, her heart beating a strange new rhythm. As Scarlet lifted her dress to walk across the stage, Ms. Laverne was informing the audience about her achievements in that poised, practiced tone. She always thought the woman sounded fake, but the crowd’s cheers and hollers showed she was alone in that opinion. The whole country loved her. Just like they loved today.

Ms. Laverne ushered her over to a shiny leather sofa, and she tucked her gown underneath her and sat straight, facing the bright lights that blinded her. She couldn’t even see her parents anymore. The only things present in her vision were the cameras and the smooth wooden floor.

“Hello, Scarlet!” Ms. Laverne grinned, her voice menacing with the microphone. “Tell me how you’re feeling today. Are you excited to get your fear taken away?”

She knew the answer everyone wanted to hear, so she gave it to them. “Yes. Most girls would be on the edge of their seats, but I’m not most girls.”

The lady shaded her giggles with her hand, facing the crowd who’d eaten her words like cake. “I can see that, Scarlet. But be honest, sweetie, 15 Fears can be a little bit daunting.”

Scarlet nodded, flustered all of a sudden. She assumed it was just the lights giving off heat. I am not afraid.

Ms. Laverne muttered words to the cameras that Scarlet had heard so many times before, that hearing them again was second nature. No one needed an explanation to what today meant, but she told the country anyway. “Today marks the 100th anniversary of 15 Fears, where the 15-year-old-girls of our country are given the chance to vanquish their fears in a high-stakes test.” Scarlet grimaced at the word chance. Everyone knew this wasn’t some incredible opportunity the government provided for them. It was a mandatory obligation you’d be executed for not attending. But worse, you’d be killed for failing. “Do you think Scarlet Smith has what it takes to win?”

The shot cut, and the makeup crew rushed up to fix Ms. Laverne’s makeup, powdering away until she looked even less human. Scarlet refused the blush and gloss even though the director urged her to wear it. If she was to die today, she’d die as herself.

No one paid much attention to her with the cameras off, but when the light in the left corner blinked back on, all eyes were back on her, like hunters staring down their prey.

“And we’re back with 15 Fears.” The reporter announced. “Here’s Scarlet, a teenage genius with an IQ of 165 and a dream of owning her own plus-size fashion industry.” A dream that would never happen if she didn’t beat the odds, if she didn’t do everything it took to win. She rubbed her thumb against her palm. “Let’s take a look at what’s behind the white curtain.”

The white curtain wasn’t nearly as timid as it sounded. In fact, it wasn’t even a curtain. Rather, it was a creme-coloured door that led to what Scarlet and her sister called the room of death. Its surface was splattered with the blood of those who’d died inside, a purposeful reminder that fear was your downfall. She wondered if a new crimson blotch would be added tonight.

Scarlet stood as Ms. Laverne pointed to the door. She wasn’t sure what the lady had said with the ruckus from the crowd, but Scarlet used that as an excuse to ignore everything and everyone around her. If she was killed, her manners wouldn’t matter. Nothing would matter.

Everything had seemed to blur together from the moment she woke up this morning, and Scarlet wasn’t quite sure how this had come so fast. She tugged at the hem of her red gown, taking one last look at herself through the muffled reflection of the hardboard. She’d never understood why they were clothed in such elegance if only to wreck the gowns with blood from a wound or the guts of a monster. Or whatever she’d be facing today. It was different for everyone.

The gold door knob was cold to the touch, sending shivers up and down her spine like a virus spreading to her lungs, choking her with constraint.

“Go ahead, Scarlet,” Ms. Laverne urged. “Show us what a genius you are.”

She knew that was meant to encourage her, to fuel her with adrenaline, and make her fight for her reputation. But the woman’s tone was strangely satirical, as if she was mocking her intelligence. It made her want to let go of the knob, run away, and refuse to go inside.

That had happened once, 50 years ago. The last girl to face her challenge, the shortest and most petite, voiced how cruel the government was being. She’d stated that fear was normal and people shouldn’t be ashamed to have doubt. She yelled, telling the crowd that they didn’t need to follow the country’s rules, that they could build a better society together. Ms. Lavern’s mother, who had staged the show back then, had merely laughed in her face.

“You’re a disgrace to this country, girl. We’ve provided you with the chance at a perfect life, and you tell us we’re cruel?” Then she’d picked the girl up by the arm and shoved her into the white curtain, where she was burned to a crisp by a fire she hadn’t been able to extinguish.

Scarlet felt the knob click, and the door swung open by a sharp rush of air. When she moved her foot inside the doorway, the wisp of air came again and the door shut behind her with a loud bang. She tugged on the knob, but it was locked. There was no escape.

It took Scarlet’s silver eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the room, but once they did, she saw words plastered below her. Choose wisely, it said in bold print.

That’s when she realized what the dark blobs she’d noticed on the walls were. Weapons. Swords, daggers, guns, bows, crossbows. Any weapon you could imagine, strapped to metal partitions with labels. The shining silver of the blades echoed across the room, and though she was the only one with access to them, her body became suddenly alert to the pain she could feel if one of the arrows or knives penetrated her flesh. She moved with hesitance.

Choose wisely. Scarlet replayed the words in her mind. There was always a catch to these challenges, something in the room that gave away the better choice. When she’d watched others on TV, she’d known right away what it was. But in this lifeless, dimly lit capsule, without Ms. Laverne’s commentary, it proved more difficult.

She scavenged through the weapons, checking each label for a clue, sticking fingers through the slides of the guns. But each label was the same, and each slide only contained the bullets needed. Checking the arrows for hidden words, and reflecting the blades from all angles, Scarlet stopped to take a breath. This was level one of the test, and she was already dripping with sweat. She pushed up against a wall to relax, sliding down until her arms wrapped around her knees. She steadied herself as the tears came on.

But she’d never been one to cry. Wiping her nose on her sleeve, her senses returned and she was back on her feet. The red dress shoes she’d been forced to wear started to blister her fair skin, so she slipped them off and placed them to the side.

For just a second, she heard something coming from the wall on the right. It was severely dampened, but as she felt around, bringing her ear close to the presence, she heard it again.

“D.” it whispered robotically. “G.” It came again. Scarlet grabbed the black marker she’d stuck inside her gown that morning, and jotted down the letters on her forearm. “R.” Her heart rate increased. “A…. E…. G.”

Then it stopped. She scribbled down the rest and then began to unscramble the word. It took less than a second to figure out.

Racing over to the tallest partition, she unhinged the sharpest dagger from its place, grasping it in her stubby hands. The burgundy grip was unusually warm, but seemed to fit the shape of her hand perfectly.

“You’ve passed level 1.” The intercom rang out, making her jump. The floor shook underneath her bare feet, and the spot below the partitions opened up, swallowing the weapons back into the floor. The same happened to the walls, but they moved down with more resistance, steadily with the mechanical whir of an elevator shaft. Soon all that was left was the small perch Scarlet was standing on. Everything below her had dissolved into darkness. If she moved more than an inch forwards or backwards, she would fall into oblivion.

So she stayed still, taking a glimpse above her for some way to get to the big red button glowing in the distance. She’d seen challenges similar to this before, so she knew she’d have to use everything left in the room to her advantage.

The roof above her head was still intact, and she noticed a small metal hook from where a lamp would hang from. Her eyes wandered further down, and she saw another. Scarlet had a dagger. She had a dress. And now these hooks.

A grin overtook her freckled cheeks. Lifting the dress, she chopped off the hem with the dagger, knotting it together with the long band of jewels close to the bottom. The waistline was hard as rock, so she used it to secure a vertical line of the underdress to the rest of her contraption. She wasn’t sure how she’d be able to traverse from one hook to the next, but there wasn’t time for second thought.

Biting the dagger’s pommel in her mouth, she flung the lasso-like dress fabric to the first hook. It took a few tries for it to latch on, but when it did, Scarlet leaped into the abyss. She’d shut her eyes, but when she realized she hadn’t fallen and died, she opened them again to see herself hanging by the rope, slowly swinging back and forth.

One arm let go, and the other gripped tighter onto the fabric, feeling the electric burn of carrying all her weight. The other removed the dagger from her mouth, turning it so that her hand was holding the shiny blade and the handle faced the next hook. This was going to hurt.

The pommel of the dagger perched outwards, curving in a way that she was able to buckle it onto the next hook and swing to get momentum. When the blade dug into her hand, she ignored the warm blood that travelled down her arm and onto her dress. She wanted to scream, fall, and never have to feel that sliding burn again. But that fear made her work harder, made her limbs numb to the torture.

Scarlet counted down, then flung the fabric once more, now able to bite the dagger again and hold on with both hands. She imagined her mother and father, cheering in the crowd, screaming her name. They couldn’t be scared for her, but they could be proud.

The movement started in her toes, ached to her feet, then stretched to her legs. Soon her whole body was vibrating, swinging like a monkey on vines. Every time Scarlet got closer to the red button, her arms throbbed just a little more, and her gash went a little deeper. The heavy jewels and gems of her gown aided gravity, holding her down with a forceful hand.

Only the fearless will make it out alive. These were the words of Ms. Laverne, but they belonged to the entire country. It was universally regarded as factual, and Scarlet had really tried to believe them. But wasn’t fear what was holding her on this strand of dress fabric in the middle of the air? Without the worry that she’d die, she never would’ve fought so hard. Without her emotional breakdown, she never would have heard the voice and passed level one. Fear was a friend, not a foe.

“Fear helps you survive.” She said aloud for everyone to hear, releasing her grip and letting the rope detach from the hook. When she fell, everything felt so vertical-- immovable. But in all the chaos, she’d still managed to smack the red button on her way down, using the force of her pendulum-like momentum to pivot forward. She heard the contraption plunge into the darkness, her blood sunken into the textile, and then she followed.

Where am I? Was Scarlet’s first thought, but her memory quickly followed, explaining the plush blue mat beneath her crouched body. 15 Fears never gave you a safety net, so she assumed the red button procured it.

She lifted her head from her fetal position, trying to figure out what to do next, but all she could focus on was the winded twinge of lost air drowning her breath.

“You’ve passed level two.” This time she didn’t feel relief, just dread. “Time for the final challenge.”

The floor beneath Scarlet shook violently, breaking the balance she’d taken minutes to compose. The elastic holding the puffed sleeves of her gown dug into her upper arms. She ripped them apart.

The final challenge made her stomach churn, as if a witch was brewing her alive, adding different spices one by one.

Level one was about observational intelligence.

The second was physical strength and resourcefulness.

Level three was about all the senses and intelligences, but mostly, how well you performed when faced with death.

It was also the only thing they didn’t show on television. One year, a girl had come out of the white curtain shrieking with her hands clutched to her bloody face. She'd lived, but she’d had to wear an eyepatch ever since. No one spoke about what went on that day. The adults didn’t seem to care. But Scarlet remembered how all her friends and classmates couldn’t fall asleep for months afterwards, dreams perilized by what they’d seen that little girl go through. Some had even threatened to run away, to leave the country together, but of course none of them did. There was nothing out there other than ruins and wastelands. And they were only children.

“One day it’ll be us in the white curtain.” Atria had conceded one scorching-hot afternoon in the kids’ secret treehouse. “How do they expect us to not be terrified?”

“Don’t you get it? They want us to fear it. They say ‘only the fearless will make it out alive’, but if I were fearless, I’d refuse to let another person into the white curtain. I’d shut down 15 Fears forever.” Scarlet had spit out a little too loudly.

Atria had snorted. “That would be stupid.”

“That would be fearless.” Scarlet had corrected her. “And they’re pretty much the same thing.”

Then a little boy with wide hazel eyes had cuddled up to Scarlet and Atria, letting out a whisper. “Why does 15 Fears even exist?” His voice was raspy and adorable.

Scarlet had simply smiled. “I believe that they created the test to weed out the leaders from the followers. Those with fear are dangerous, because they think about their actions and they care about people. Those who pass the test, who are proclaimed fearless, are the ones they can push around, turn into servants.”

Atria had just giggled sharply, the same giggle that made everyone within a few feet of her listen in. “You sure have some silly ideas, Scarlet.”

“You do,” another girl had nodded. “Fear stops you from reaching your full potential. If you live with fear, there’s no point in living.”

“Perhaps,” Scarlet had shrugged, snuggling close to her eggshell-coloured blanket, drifting into a light sleep. “Perhaps.”

Beams of light burned Scarlet’s eyes as she was moved to the final challenge, the mat below her lifting into a platform. It moved her to a different room, even further downwards into the damp ground. When it halted abruptly, she waited a few moments to make sure it was done bashing her around. Then she took a hair elastic off her wrist and tied her hair into a stubby ponytail, pulling up her gown that had disintegrated into paper-like shreds.

She heard the cameras in every corner click off, and she knew she was alone as she faced a doorway hidden away by a set of curtains the colour of snow.

The white curtain, she whispered to herself. Scarlet’s hand was still gripped around the dagger, her fingers unable to loosen. It was the only protection she had, and she wanted to hold on tight.

Luckily, the curtain opened by itself, an eerie wind causing it to fly sideways. Scarlet was thankful because she never would have been able to open it on her own without breaking down in tears.

She tiptoed slowly over to it, running her fingers through the lacy cloth. She couldn’t bear to look at what was hidden behind, but she didn’t have to look to know she was in the presence of something deadly. Between, the waves of heat that traveled through the air, sizzling on her skin like meat on a barbeque, and the low growling laced with the dripping of water.

But when Scarlet did look up, she didn’t see a fanged monster or a blistering pit of lava.

She saw Atria.

“Atria!” She shouted, jogging over to her. “Are you okay?”

She looked up at Scarlet with squinted eyes, her mouth moving to speak, but no sound coming out. Atria tugged on her throat, her chest having momentary convulsions.

Scarlet gently rested her hands on Atria’s shoulders, inhaling and exhaling to try to get her to calm down.

“Who did this to you?” She asked frantically. It was entirely possible that this was just an illusion, to test Scarlet, but the friend in front of her seemed so real, so traumatized.

“They... heard… you…” Was all that escaped Atria’s mouth in a dry cough. She was tied to a metallic chair by thick ropes, but they were attached in metal buckles so it was impossible for Scarlet to save her. There was no way to stop the pain the chair forced onto Atria.

“Scarlet Smith committed treason today, and she will suffer for it.” Ms. Laverne declared on the intercom.

Treason?

Atria must have sensed the confusion on Scarlet’s face because she croaked out, “Level… two.” Then Atria’s body fell, dropped to the floor, motionless. Scarlet brushed her long blonde hair aside, draping Atria back on the chair, tears distorting her vision.

Fear helps you survive. These were the words she had muttered during level two, and they had killed her best friend for it. For words! What else would this country do to its people? They already had the ability to murder those who failed the test. And for what? They wanted a people that didn’t doubt its dictators, but these games only sparked a fire beneath Scarlet.

If they wanted fearless, then that’s what they’d get.

Scarlet gripped her dagger, shutting one eye and tossing it towards the intercom. It hit, and a chaotic muffling sounded out across the room.

“What… are you… doin-” Ms. Laverne’s voice yelled, slowly fading away. The intercom was a crucial part of 15 Fears because it connected everything together. Moving the participant from place to place, setting up each new challenge, creating the obstacles; all of that was done by one single switchboard. If she cut off one finger, the whole hand was likely to shut down.

Scarlet perched herself on the mechanical chairs’ arms, jumping up towards the system and pulling her dagger back from its grasp. She threw it again as her feet landed back on the ground, tearing the metal wires that connected it apart. For a while, all she did was dig her dagger deeper into the machine, the cut on her palm burning with passion.

Eventually there was no more damage she could bring to it and she rushed out of the white curtained room to the previous challenge areas. The mat, the platform, the hooks on the ceiling. All of it waned into simply air. Soon, the only things that remained were the dagger and her fragmented gown. Scarlet took a breath, and then she faded away too.

Months passed, and Scarlet stayed in bed for most of them. Destroying the system had in a way, destroyed her. But her time in the white curtain had been aired for the entire country, no matter how hard they tried to erase it from the internet, and even those without fear had latched onto her story. 15 Fears became a thing of the past after countless protests, but Scarlet knew it would always be a part of her.

Her sleep was paralyzed by nightmares of the white curtain. Her heart ached for her best friend every morning when she saw the sun peak through her windows. Her heart raced whenever she heard the faintest sound. Sometimes she wished she’d never stabbed the dagger into the intercom, that she had passed the test and gotten her fear removed. Life would have been so much easier.

But as Ms. Laverne would say, the fearless don’t mind taking the harder path.