Fear is the only true enemy, born of ignorance and the parent of

Host: The train station was nearly empty, the last departures long gone. A thin fog drifted across the platform, curling around the lampposts like pale smoke. Somewhere down the tracks, a signal light glowed red, pulsing in rhythm with the sound of the rails — the sound of waiting.

Jack sat on a bench, a duffel bag at his feet, his face dimly lit by the flicker of a dying overhead bulb. His hands were clasped tight, his eyes lost somewhere far behind the present moment. Across from him, Jeeny stood by the vending machine, holding a paper cup of coffee, watching the fog swallow the platform one breath at a time.

Above them, on a cracked poster board, someone had scribbled a quote over a faded advertisement:

"Fear is the only true enemy, born of ignorance and the parent of anger and hate." — Edward Albert

The words looked almost like a warning — something carved into the walls of the world itself.

Jeeny: (softly) Funny how that fits anywhere you put it — history, war, relationships.

Jack: (half-smiles) Or train stations at midnight.

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) Especially train stations.

Jack: (looks up at her) You think fear’s really the root of it all?

Jeeny: (sits beside him) I think fear’s the root of most things we don’t understand — and everything we destroy because of it.

Jack: (quietly) I’ve always thought hate was stronger. It feels bigger. Heavier.

Jeeny: (nodding) That’s because hate’s fear wearing armor.

Host: The train signal light flickered again, casting their faces in waves of red and shadow, like truth blinking between denial and revelation. Jack’s shoulders tightened as he stared at the glowing horizon.

Jack: You ever felt fear so deep it changes the way you breathe? Like your lungs forget how to move?

Jeeny: (gently) Everyone has. But not everyone admits it.

Jack: (bitterly) I’m not afraid anymore.

Jeeny: (looks at him) No — you just built anger over it. Different coat, same weather.

Jack: (grins faintly) You’re saying I’m afraid under all this?

Jeeny: (softly) You wouldn’t need to be angry if you weren’t.

Host: The wind picked up, rattling the loose sheet metal of a nearby sign. The sound carried through the empty station, hollow and human — like something caught between a sigh and a scream.

Jack: (after a moment) You ever notice how fear makes people cruel? You take a man, fill him with uncertainty, and suddenly he’s dangerous.

Jeeny: (nodding) That’s what Edward Albert meant, I think. Fear doesn’t just hurt — it reproduces. It gives birth to hate because hate feels like control.

Jack: (quietly) Yeah. Anger gives you the illusion of power when you feel powerless.

Jeeny: (softly) And hate gives you purpose when you’ve lost your meaning.

Jack: (after a pause) I’ve seen it up close. In my father. He was scared all the time — of losing his job, losing face, losing control. He’d yell, throw things, scare us. I used to think he was just mean. But now… maybe he was just afraid of disappearing.

Jeeny: (gently) Fear makes cowards out of all of us. But sometimes, it just makes us human.

Host: The fog grew thicker now, wrapping the station lights in halos. For a moment, the world seemed small — two souls on a platform surrounded by everything they couldn’t see.

Jeeny: (after a pause) What scares you most, Jack?

Jack: (hesitates) The thought that I’ve become him. That I lead with my temper instead of my heart.

Jeeny: (quietly) You’re not him. You’re asking the question — that’s the difference.

Jack: (smirks) So awareness is redemption now?

Jeeny: It’s the start of it. Fear grows in the dark, Jack. The moment you shine a light on it, it starts to shrink.

Jack: (glancing at the poster) “Born of ignorance,” huh? Guess that’s the light — understanding.

Jeeny: (nodding) Exactly. You can’t fight what you don’t see. And you can’t hate someone once you’ve really understood what made them who they are.

Host: A distant train horn sounded — low, echoing, endless. The sound seemed to carry something ancient in it: longing, grief, movement. The kind of sound that reminds you how big the world is — and how small your anger is inside it.

Jack: (after a pause) You ever think about how wars start the same way? Fear of losing, fear of difference, fear of being wrong.

Jeeny: (softly) Always. Every act of cruelty is a failure of empathy. And empathy dies where fear begins.

Jack: (nods slowly) Yeah. People fear what mirrors them. What reminds them of themselves.

Jeeny: (looking at him) Or what they might become.

Jack: (quietly) I guess that’s why hate feels safer. It lets you pretend you’re nothing like what you fear.

Jeeny: (softly) Until it’s too late, and you become exactly that.

Host: The red signal light turned green, casting the platform in a softer glow. The fog shifted, and for the first time, they could see the faint outline of the next train approaching — distant yet inevitable, its lights cutting through the dark like a slow-moving truth.

Jeeny: (quietly) You know what’s strange? Fear’s the only enemy that lives inside both sides of every fight.

Jack: (nods) Two people arguing are just defending their own panic.

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) Yeah. Fear’s the only war where everyone’s wounded before it starts.

Jack: (half-laughs) You should write that on the wall next to the quote.

Jeeny: (smiling) Maybe I already have — in your head.

Host: The train began to slow, the brakes hissing, the air thickening with sound and movement. The moment before its arrival felt suspended — time stretched thin, fragile, honest.

Jack: (softly) I’ve been running from fear my whole life, thinking if I kept moving, it couldn’t catch me. But it’s always been there — not behind me, but inside me.

Jeeny: (nodding) That’s where it lives. And that’s where it dies too — when you stop feeding it.

Jack: (smiles faintly) You make it sound simple.

Jeeny: (whispers) It’s not simple. It’s sacred. Facing fear is the closest thing we have to prayer.

Host: The train doors opened with a soft hiss, releasing a gust of warm air into the cold night. Jack stood, picking up his bag, then looked at Jeeny.

For a moment, the air between them felt lighter — like something unspoken had finally found its way out.

Jack: (quietly) You know, I used to think hate made me strong. Now I think it just made me smaller.

Jeeny: (smiling gently) That’s how fear works. It convinces you that shrinking is safety.

Jack: (nodding) Not anymore.

Jeeny: (softly) Then step forward, Jack. Fear can’t walk beside you unless you slow down for it.

Host: He stepped onto the train, the sound of his boots echoing faintly against the floor. Jeeny stayed on the platform, watching as the doors began to close.

Jack looked back once — his face calm now, illuminated by the faint green glow.

Jeeny: (calling out) Don’t fight fear, Jack. Understand it — and it’ll stop being your enemy.

Jack: (smiling through the closing doors) Yeah. Maybe it was never my enemy — just my teacher.

Host: The train pulled away, its lights receding into the fog until they disappeared entirely. The station fell silent again, the world returning to stillness.

Jeeny stood there for a moment, her hands in her coat pockets, her breath visible in the cold air, the quote above her head barely legible now in the dim light — but its meaning echoing through the emptiness.

And as the fog began to lift, the truth of Edward Albert’s words became visible — not on the wall, but in the silence left behind:

Fear is not the darkness itself.
It is the blindfold we tie to avoid seeing the light.