Your eyes are closed,
blocking out the light and the task in front of you. Breathe. You inhale and hold the air inside your lungs for 3
seconds before releasing it slowly through your nose. You feel concrete beneath
your bare feet, the scratchy surface warm after sitting in the sun since its
rise over the mountains and trees. A faint breeze wisps around your body
catching the sweat that has pooled in the small of your back. You can feel the
sun beating down from above, warming your exposed shoulders.
You open your eyes, feeling concentrated on what you
are about to do. You take the pair of swimming goggles that have been dangling
from your fist and stretch the elastic over your head. As the goggles slip over
your eyes, the surrounding world takes on an orange hue. You breathe again,
focusing in on the air that is flowing into your lungs. Hold for three seconds,
then release.
“Is the contestant ready?” A voice calls over to you
from off to your left.
You look over and see Jim Stanton, the host of the
show. He stares nonchalantly at you, a wisp of wind ruffling the bottom of his
yellow polo. You nod, and hold out your left hand, your fingers curled into a
fist and your thumb extended into a thumbs-up.
“Okay. Entering reality.”
He pauses, waiting for a signal from the cameramen.
You turn your head back to focusing on the water that laps against the side
pool. You try to push down the rising tension in your stomach.
“Will our Daredevil
be able to face the watery depths or will their courage just leave them all
washed up? We will find out in... Three…”
The number echoes around your skull.
“Two…”
Your heart pounds against your chest.
“One…”
Your legs quiver in anticipation like springs wound
too tight.
“Go!”
The springs in your legs snap, and you send yourself
into the air, an arc headed downwards into the water.
The dive is far from perfect, but your hands do
manage to part the water in the split second before the rest of your body. The
shock of cold hits your system, and you think for a second that your lungs
might give up their precious cargo of air. But they hold, and you open your
eyes to watery depths now surrounding you.
Under the water, you can only hear the stroke of your
arms and kick of your legs as you swim downwards. You see your goal, a set of
wooden boxes scattered in the middle of a large red circle 15 feet below the
surface. Around the perimeter of the circle, a squadron of black-suited divers
swim, each one holding various pieces of video equipment that are pointed back
at you. You hope that your swimsuit won’t slip from its designated position on
your body as you continue to stroke through the water.
You can feel the pressure of the water building
against your ears as you reach the bottom. You arrive first at a large wooden
box, with the number 2 written on the lid. A lock holds the lid shut, you will
need to find that key. You leave the box, searching for another box with the
number 2 written on the lid. You find it about 10 feet away, a small box the
size of a shoebox. You pick up the box
and fiddle with the lid, trying to pry it off with shaking hands. You can feel
your lungs fighting to retain any last shreds of air, you have to move fast.
The lid pops off revealing a brass key inside. You grab the key in a pincer
hold, drop the box and turn, not even watching it fall back to the pool’s
floor. You kick off, swimming back to your first box. You arrive, and jam the
key into the lock. You struggle to twist the key, and finally it pops.
You open the lid, and there inside is your prize: a
red block with the words “5 lbs” written in black across the top. You can feel
your lungs crying out, so you grab the block with both hands and prepare to
retreat back to the surface. Your feet find the pool bottom, so you squat and
push. You feel the water flow against your skin, but you slow too quickly.
Water still separates you from the air you need, and so you kick your legs,
pushing you forward.
Your face breaks the surface, and so you gasp for
breath with water flowing off your face. But you can’t rest, the platform to
place the brick floats 5 feet away. You move your legs still clutching the red
block in your hands. Although it may have been a few seconds, it seemed an
eternity. You arrive at the floating platform and heave the 5-lb brick up onto
the platform. You hear an electronic bong from the poolside. One brick down,
four to go.
---
Almost two years earlier, you were sitting squarely
in an uncomfortable chair in front of a wooden desk in an office with small
windows on the side wall. Your boss sat in front of you, his hands clasped
together on top of his desk. Plaques hung behind his head, exclaiming his
excellence in management.
“As you are aware, we are being forced by upper
management to downsize our department. As one of the few at-will employees… I’m
sorry about this, but we no longer need your services to this company. You will
have until the end of the day to clear out your cubicle.”
You stared straight ahead at the fake concern smeared
across his face unable to force words of indignation to come to your mouth. All
you could manage was an open mouth and a few gasps of air like a fish freshly
pulled from a lake. After a few minutes of awkward silence, he finally helped
you to your feet and out the door.
Your 10x10 cubicle had been eggshell-white, just like
the other 49 that formed the nexus of the business. You sat in your chair,
feeling the familiar spring as it moved to your weight. You felt heavier than
ever before, the weight of your future pressing down. You had been cueing up
your computer for the day’s work before your “interview,” and the screen of
your computer was still lit up waiting for use. A red light blinked on the
phone to the right of the monitor; there were probably messages from the
successes of the previous day.
You left the phone’s headset sitting in the place
where you put it after each day’s work over the previous five years. The mouse to
the computer stayed next to the keyboard that was hidden on a sliding shelf
that rested below the desk top. After pressing the button to turn off the
monitor, you let your hand stray to the 3x5 frame sitting to the left.
Your young son, Harrison, looks out at you, his face
beaming in a smile. You had driven up into the mountains together the previous
fall just as the leaves had been changing colors and had snapped a few pictures
commemorating the memory. His eyes were filled with hope and yet-to-be-lived
dreams. As you gazed at the picture, your own eyes filled with tears. What kind
of dream would you be able to live together now?
Seeing an empty box by the photocopier, you grabbed
it to fill with your memories. A set of
pens for five years of service that you had received a year previous; you
wanted to uncap them all and draw a modern take on primitive cave drawings all
over the cubical walls. A plaque labeled “Optimal Service to the Branch’s
Success” from the award banquet held right before Christmas. You were tempted to throw it away, or even
into the smug face of your now ex-manager. But instead, it all went into the forgotten
box. You finished the pile off with the framed picture of your son. And just as
your ex-coworkers were heading into the break room from their morning coffee,
you removed your name tag, slapped it down on to the desk and left the office
for the last time.
A bridge stands a few blocks away from your house
where you had lived. Underneath, a river churns its way relentlessly towards the
ocean. After leaving your job that day, you stood on the bridge for two hours.
You wondered what the bridge would look like covered in police cars, fire
trucks and television vans. You wondered what the world would be with one less
person living in it.
Then, you heard the toll of the church bell ringing
12 times. Harrison was counting on you to pick up him from kindergarten. So,
you turned your back to the bridge and walked away.
---
You sit on a wooden bench at a picnic table. The
table stands in a grove of trees, their branches shifting in the breeze. Light
streams in from above, filtered by the leaves that hang overhead. You wear a
jacket, its thin fabric layer forming a barrier from the shade’s chill.
Two of the contestants had been eliminated the day
before. Both had managed to complete the underwater task, but you retrieved the
five blocks about 15 seconds than the faster of the two. Of the remaining four
players, you had been the slowest at swimming. You make up your mind that you
will not place last during this next event.
Jim sits at the head of the table, explaining the
rules of the game. Each contestant will be given a plate of food themed around
a picnic. At Jim’s signal, each contestant would then commence eating at the
same time and have 15 minutes to eat whatever food you will be given. The only
allowed way to kill anything alive would be through crushing of it between your
teeth. Any contestant unable to finish eating within the 15 minute time period
will be eliminated from the show.
As Jim explains the rules, you stare at the other
contestants sitting at the table. You wonder if your face is as pale as theirs.
Taking a cue from the producers, Jim pulls a large
basket from underneath the table. The horrid stench you have smelled since you
sat down intensifies. You hold a gag in your throat. Jim makes a face as he
reaches inside the basket to pull out the first item.
A cardboard carton with the logo, “Daredevil’s Finest Fried Chicken.” The
bottom of the carton is darkened with moisture and you watch as a small white
grub-like thing squirms its way between the cracks. In a horrific moment of
epiphany, you realize what the little grub is just as Jim announces the dish.
“Maggot covered Fried Chicken. Enjoy.”
Someone to the right of you gags audibly, dry
heaving.
Jim has reached back into the basket and is preparing
to pull out the next item that will surely torture your insides. It is long and
cylindrical and covered in aluminum foil. He pulls out four others, and you
realize there will be one for each of you. His eyes brim with glee as he
unwraps the foil to show the contents.
“And what is fried chicken without a side of
corn-on-the cob?”
The yellow corn kernels are covered in more grubs,
this time in colors of red and green. They are thinner and slightly longer than
their maggoty counterparts.
“And those are waxworms.”
More gagging from your right. Jim seems unperturbed
as he reaches into the basket one last time. He brings out a smaller basket,
this one filled with what seems like biscuits. However, you notice small legs
sticking out helter-skelter from each one.
“And finally, we have cockroach biscuits.”
The gagging to your right continues. You look over
just in time to see the contestant reach up to his mouth, swivel in his seat
and run off into the woods. Seconds later, you hear the thick splatter of bile
against the trunk of a tree.
“It appears that we are already down a player. Okay, Daredevils, will you be able to brave
the depths of food fears or will the bugs find themselves conquerors of your
resolve? We will begin in… Three…”
You look at the maggots that are now wriggling out of
every possible exit of the cardboard chicken container.
“Two…”
You stare down at a waxworm that has reared at you
defiantly.
“One…”
You look at the biscuits and wonder if it’s just the
breeze that is making the legs of the cockroaches twitch.
“Go!”
You lean in to the table, grabbing for whatever is
closest to you. A biscuit. You close your eyes and lift your hands to your
mouth. Saying a silent prayer, you clamp down and start to chew.
---
It had been over a year and a half since your
dismissal. In order to maintain custody over Harrison, you had taken up a job
working the lunch shifts at a local fast food place. You had traded ironed
shirts and day-old coffee for a baseball hat and grease stains.
It was mid-afternoon and you had just gotten home
from your shift. You lived in a new neighborhood, an apartment complex with
rooms that were almost too small to live in. You were expecting Harrison to be
home soon; his new school had a bus that would drop him off in front of the
complex.
The door opens and closes behind you and you hear his
small footsteps on the fake tile. You grab a grease-stained white paper bag
that you had sitting in front of you on the table. He takes it from you, giving
you a hug on your side as he passes.
“Thanks for the Happy Meal. Is there a cool toy in
there today?”
You shrug, but give him a smile. You picked this one
out yourself.
He smiles, and then sits next to you at the table.
Within a few bites, the fries and burger were placed
to the side and a purple car with orange painted flames was zooming across the
table. Within moments, the car had bumped against the stack of envelops on its
way around the table. The top one falls off the stack, revealing the eviction
warning from the apartment managers. You shuffle the letters quickly, hoping
Harrison hadn’t noticed the bright red letters. The car was still making its
way around the table, Harrison making the sound of screeching tires against the
wooden asphalt.
He suddenly looks up. “My show’s on!”
He runs over to the TV searching for the remote. He
anxiously searches while you pick yourself off the chair and move over to the
couch. Sitting down, you feel hard plastic and pull the remote out from the
crack between the cushions.
You press the power button.
“Channel 4. It’s going to start soon!”
You decide to play with his emotions and press the 7
button instead.
“Ugh, I said channel 4! This is just dumb grown-up
news!”
You chuckle. You move to turn it to his show, when
you stop yourself.
On the screen, there is an advertisement.
“From the
producers of the hit game shows Show Me the Money and Walk out of Here with some Serious Cash: Do you have the guts to run into a burning building? Could you face a
pit full of rats? We are searching
for contestants for the first season of a new reality show where other people’s
fears are just a walk in the park. Apply now for a chance to be on this new
show and for the shot at the $100,000 prize! Prove to the world the Daredevil that you are!”
A website was flashing at the bottom of the screen.
“Come on, turn it to 4! Hydroman was teaming up with
the Human Shark against the Evil Eel!!”
$100,000? You
felt in that moment that the number was a godsend. You quickly memorized the
site’s address (www.Daredevilshow.com). You pressed the 4 button and the sounds
of fanfare soon filled the living room. You looked at Harrison as he bounced up
and down in a sitting position, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him. Could
you be a hero from him too?
That night after putting him to bed, you booted up
your old laptop and opened up the internet. After filling in the address, you
waited for a minute as the computer hummed away. The page loaded, and there,
right in the middle, was a button labeled, ‘Apply
Here.’ Without a second thought, you clicked.
---
You stand at the base of a trio of towers. The night
air feels cool against your naked arms. You rub your hands together, warming
them in preparation for the final task.
Only you and one other contestant, Marcus, remain.
The third contestant made it five minutes into the previous task before
throwing up all over her side of the table. For yourself, you only stand here
because your bile came up your throat after time had been called. It had never
felt so good to expunge your stomach of its contents.
Jim stands in front of you, his yellow polo shirt
catching a faint breeze. He has just finished explaining the procedure of the event;
this final stunt would define the winner.
It seems simple enough. The three towers stand in the
shape of a squashed a triangle. You and Marcus stand at the base of the two
outer towers which you both will climb concurrently. After a 100 foot climb,
you will both then traverse a thin plank that stretches between the outer
towers and the third tower. Whoever crosses the 75 foot gap to the top of the
center tower first and hits the red button in the middle will win, earning
accolades and the final prize money.
“So, are you ready to show the kind of Daredevil you are?”
Both you and Marcus nod your heads. Jim motions you
to take your positions at the base of the towers. You feel your heart racing as
you realize that your goal is so close. The production crew comes to your side,
doing a final check on the harness that will keep you attached to the safety
lines mounted around the set.
You worry that Marcus is going to be a formidable
opponent. His arms of steel pulled him through the water to have the fastest
time in the first task. His will of iron helped him force down the bug-infested
food without a single gag. And now, there he stands, the final obstacle between
you and the prize. Him, and this enormous tower looming above you.
The production crew backs off, giving the thumbs up
sign to the cameramen and Jim. At that moment, a faint mist begins to spray
down from a hose suspended hundreds of feet in the air.
“Okay, Daredevils,
this is it! We are ready to go in … Three…”
You look over to Marcus. He is staring straight up at
the tower in front of him. His legs quiver beneath him.
“Two…”
You focus on your own tower. The top seems high up,
and as you stare, it begins to fade out of focus.
“One…”
You tense your legs, priming them to push you
heavenwards.
“Go!”
You grab hold of the closest rung on the tower and
pull yourself upwards. You can hear Jim yelling and screaming, but you tune him
out as you stretch your arms and legs upwards. Rung after rung you climb,
feeling the bars grow even wetter as you gain height. You refuse to look over
at the other contestant; instead you reserve every bit of energy into
completing the task.
Halfway up, your right hand slips off the rung. Your
arm swings down smashing into a rung below. Your elbow immediately flares up in
pain. You yelp, but you know that you have no time to stop. So, refusing to
listen to your arm, you stretch it forward again and again.
Finally, you reach the top. The mist was originally a
slow mist is now a steady drizzle and the water splashes onto your head. You
aren’t sure what has made you wetter, the sweat from the exertion or the
man-made rain cloud above. You look down, seeing the lights of the cameras
below. The production crews scurry around, positioning themselves to find the
best angle to capture the action. And in the middle, with his arms folded
across his chest, Jim stands, head cocked to the side in bored anticipation.
The world below begins to swirl and twist in your
vision. You close your eyes, trying to slow your pounding heart. A few seconds
later into finding your focus, you look up and approach the plank that spans
the gap to victory. You breathe in deeply, and then step out over the void. The
wood is slick beneath your feet and it takes every ounce of will to put your
next foot forward. You hold out your arms, thinking about all the shows of
circuses that you have seen. The pain in your elbow intensifies from the
stretch, so you grunt and groan to keep up your resolve.
Another few footsteps forward. You look forward, not
down. You can see Marcus through the drizzle; he is a few steps onto the plank
himself. He seems to be slowly shuffling, his legs wobbling. You hope that your
determination is as strong as the determination you can see across his face.
You struggle to lengthen your shambling stride and
you manage a few more steps forward. You can feel the wood bowing slightly
beneath your weight. You search your soul for any reservoirs of energy. Finding
a final drop of power, you use it to quicken your pace, hoping that the board isn’t
going to break beneath you.
Before you know it, you find yourself on the firmer
footing of the central tower. You see the button in the middle on a raised
platform; if you can just get to it first. Marcus sees this too, and he begins
to lunge forward, being only a few footsteps from the tower. You stretch out
your arms one final time, working against the throb in your elbow. Your
extending fingers find the red plastic cover and so you press down with all
your might.
