My people have simple gods. The doctors think my gods are weak and primitive. They smirk when I answer their questions.

One day they ask me about the god I worship most. It’s a strange question, but I try to answer honestly. I am a warrior, so I tell them about Fear, She With the Gentle Eyes. They frown and write notes and say they don’t understand, could I explain.

I can’t, so instead I make my war face and yell for Fear to attack them. My voice thunders through the room, and the doctors jump and chuckle, saying I startled them. But I saw the moment Fear entered them, I know it because she entered me too.

I tell them you cannot truly inspire Fear unless you know her. In your heart you have to welcome her. She cripples you. But her eyes are gentle when you see her, and you can stand and continue.

They nod like they understand, still smirking. But I see beads of sweat at their temples, tension in their shoulders…they don’t know it, but Fear is with them now.

My gods may be simple, but they are not weak.