We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real

Host: The moon hung low over the harbor, a pale coin floating in the ink-black sky. The waves whispered against the rocks, soft and rhythmic, as though the world itself were breathing in its sleep. A single lamp post cast its trembling circle of light on the old wooden pier, where Jack and Jeeny stood — shadows with faces.

The air smelled of salt, rust, and memory.

Jack had his hands in his coat pockets, staring at the dark horizon where the sea devoured the sky. Jeeny leaned on the railing, her hair dancing with the wind, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of the lamp’s glow.

Jeeny: “Plato said, ‘We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.’”

Jack: snorts softly “He always had a thing for metaphors. But I get it — ignorance is easier than truth.”

Jeeny: “Not ignorance, Jack. Fear. It’s not that we don’t see the light — it’s that we can’t bear what it shows.”

Jack: “You mean accountability. Truth makes people uncomfortable. It holds a mirror.”

Jeeny: “And in that mirror, most people see the lies they’ve built their lives on.”

Jack: leans against the railing “Maybe that’s why the dark’s so popular. It’s merciful. You can pretend to be anything in the dark.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Pretend to be whole.”

Jack: “Pretend not to be lost.”

Host: The wind sighed through the pier’s planks, carrying the soft murmur of the tide. The lamp above them flickered, spilling uneven light that sliced through the night like a hesitant confession.

For a moment, neither spoke. The silence was not empty — it was heavy with thought, dense as fog.

Jeeny: “You know, Plato wasn’t talking about literal light. He was talking about enlightenment — the courage to see the truth and live by it.”

Jack: “Yeah, the Allegory of the Cave. Shadows on the wall and all that. But what he never said was what happens after you leave the cave. What do you do when you see the world’s real form — and realize you can’t go back?”

Jeeny: “You teach others to see.”

Jack: laughs bitterly “And they stone you for it.”

Jeeny: “That’s what makes it noble.”

Jack: “No, that’s what makes it tragic.”

Host: A wave broke louder than the rest, spraying them with mist. The lamp’s flame trembled, caught in the draft, then steadied again. Jack’s face, half in light, half in shadow, looked like it couldn’t decide which side to belong to.

Jack: “You ever notice how the light exposes everything — even the ugliness we’d rather not admit? Maybe fear of the light isn’t cowardice. Maybe it’s self-preservation.”

Jeeny: “That’s the lie we tell ourselves. The light doesn’t destroy us, Jack. It just strips away what isn’t real.”

Jack: quietly “And sometimes that’s all we have — what isn’t real.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe we’ve lived too long in the dark.”

Jack: “Maybe we were born there.”

Host: The sea hissed softly, as if responding — agreeing, disagreeing, neither. The moonlight shimmered on the surface of the water, fractured, rippling. A perfect metaphor for the conversation: truth reflected but never still.

Jeeny: “Plato saw it centuries ago — people don’t fear ignorance, they fear awakening. Because once you wake up, you can’t sleep again.”

Jack: sighs “You ever notice how the ones who live in darkness always say they’re happy? They call it comfort, tradition, faith — anything but fear.”

Jeeny: “Because naming fear gives it form. And once it has form, you have to fight it.”

Jack: “And people don’t want to fight — they want to rest.”

Jeeny: “Even if the rest is death.”

Jack: stares at her, quietly “You really believe humanity wants the light?”

Jeeny: “I believe it needs it.”

Jack: “That’s not the same thing.”

Jeeny: “No. But it’s enough to start.”

Host: The lamp hummed faintly, its light flickering like a pulse. The wind had softened now; the world seemed to pause, waiting for something unnamed.

Jack pulled a cigarette from his pocket but didn’t light it. He just held it between his fingers, rolling it absently.

Jack: “You know, I’ve seen people run from truth like it’s a fire. Religion, politics, love — doesn’t matter. The moment they glimpse the real thing, they flinch. Like looking into the sun.”

Jeeny: “Because light demands transformation. And most people would rather remain familiar with their pain than risk becoming someone else.”

Jack: “So you think fear of light is fear of becoming?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Because the light doesn’t just reveal the world — it reveals you.”

Jack: quietly “And what if you don’t like what you see?”

Jeeny: “Then you begin again.”

Jack: bitter laugh “You make it sound simple.”

Jeeny: softly “No. Just necessary.”

Host: The waves lapped slower now, as if the sea itself had fallen into contemplation. Above them, the moon broke through a cloud, washing everything in silver. The lamp no longer looked so lonely.

For a brief moment, the light touched Jack’s face fully — no shadow, no division.

Jack: “You really think people can learn to love the light?”

Jeeny: “Not love. Respect. You don’t have to love the truth to live in it — you just have to stop running from it.”

Jack: “And if the truth hurts?”

Jeeny: “Then it’s doing its job.”

Jack: “You sound like you’ve made peace with pain.”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “No. I’ve just stopped pretending darkness heals it.”

Host: A long silence stretched between them. The light from the lamp flickered once more, but this time it did not falter. The sea breeze carried the faint smell of salt and rust — ancient, eternal, honest.

Jack finally lit his cigarette, the flame small and trembling, its glow merging with the lamp’s.

Jack: exhales slowly “Maybe that’s what Plato meant. The child hides from the dark because he doesn’t understand it. The man hides from the light because he finally does.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Darkness is ignorance. But fear of light — that’s the tragedy of awareness without courage.”

Jack: “So what’s the cure?”

Jeeny: “Courage born from compassion. Seeing the truth and not letting it make you cruel.”

Jack: after a pause “You really believe that’s possible?”

Jeeny: “If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here — talking, trying, hoping.”

Jack: smiles faintly, almost sadly “Hope — that’s your light, isn’t it?”

Jeeny: “No. You are, Jack. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

Host: The lamp flickered again as the wind shifted, but this time it held steady — a small defiance against the night.

Jack looked at Jeeny, her face illuminated in soft gold, eyes alive with something that felt like faith. For a long moment, the darkness seemed less vast, less absolute.

The waves rolled gently beneath them, whispering in a language older than words:

Light cannot promise peace — only truth.
But sometimes, that is enough.

And so they stood — two figures in a trembling circle of glow —
neither afraid of the dark anymore,
nor blind to the light,
but simply learning how to live between them.