Split

"Okay seriously," I asked, "how many more of them are there?"

"I dunno." Bad replied, leaning back in his chair. We were sitting on the patio of a coffee shop this time. The world slowly began to regain color, but only in certain, random spots. The liquid that steamed in our cups was brown. The sky was a light blue. The umbrellas that arched over the tables were pinstriped, but only halfway; one was dark green, and the other was light gray. Good and Bad still wore white and red, just as they always have.

"I just want to be done with this meet and greet." I stated, clenching the cup with both hands.

"You're not the only one." Good said, mirroring me. "I thought that there would be fewer people than this."

We both looked at Bad, anticipating a remark, but he remained silent. He had his eyes set across the street on a small apartment complex.

"Is that where we're going next?" I asked him.

"I think," he hesitated, looking down the street, "unless something else catches my eye."

"So why are you guys just bailing on me the second I walk into a house?" I asked them as I rose from the table.

"Because you don't need us." Good groaned as he stood up as well. "This is your journey, and you need to be the one who makes it. We already know who all of these people are, but you don't."

Bad got up and rushed down the patio stairs.

"Should I be worried?" I hollered at him. "I don't want to meet another Hollow-type."

"I wouldn't be." Good said from behind me. "Hollow is the creepiest. But let's be realistic here, are you really that afraid of what makes you as a person?"

"Sometimes," I started, glancing back to look at him, "yes, I am."

Bad continued to rush across the street toward the complex. As we drew nearer, the doors started to fade into the walls. The doorknobs disintegrated, and the white wood doors started to blend with the faint orange walls. Bad led us up to the third floor, and down to the end of the hallway, where the only door still remained.

"Here." He said simply, motioning towards the door.

"What?" I said with a smile. "No fanfare?"

His face was solemn. I would have thought that he, of everyone, would have been taking joy in me having to come to terms with myself. But he did not smile. He looked tired. Not even disappointed.

"Just go in." Good laughed as he nudged me from behind. I grasped onto the doorknob, and I could feel the lock click in my hand. But before I could push forward, he door once again swung open for me. I walked in, and it shut behind me.

The apartment was split in half like Good and Bad's house. One side was brighter and cleaner, while the other was dark and dusty. They were both identical as well. From where I stood I could see the full kitchens in both of them, the living and dining rooms, and the two hallways that led to the bathrooms and bedrooms.

"Who's there?" A voice called from the dark half.

"It's me?" I called out, confused. "I kinda don't know how to introduce myself to any of you."

"God damn it." The voice echoed back. "I didn't want him here today!"

"But I like him!" Another voice called from the bright half. I heard a small jingle and then a thump. A shadow appeared in the door of the bright bedroom.

"Uh." I started, taking a step back into the door. "Hi?"

The shadow grew closer, and it was followed by a small corgi, waddling out of the bedroom. It stopped, looked at me, and started to pant.

"Hi." It said, sitting down along the break line.

"Uh." I stumbled once more. I can understand Hollow, I thought to myself, but why is there a corgi?

"You're probably wondering why I'm a corgi?" He said once more.

"Yes." I said, flustered. "How on Earth could you have guessed that?"

"I'm in your head." He smiled before getting up and waddling over to his living room.

"Anyway," he heaved as he jumped onto the couch, "my name is Could. I represent your feeling of optimism. I always like to think about what could happen if you do something."

"I really don't want you to be here." A voice grumbled from behind me, making me jump. I turned around, and another version of me was standing in the archway of the dark hallway. His clothes were old and tattered. He hadn't shaved in a while. His hair was thinning on top, and cut short around the sides.

"And you are?" I asked, hesitant for an answer.

"Hopefully something a little better than a fucking anthropomorphic corgi!"

"Oh take off, eh?" Could barked.

"Sorry," he paused, "let me correct myself. An anthropomorphic and Canadian corgi."

Could drew in a breath, but then paused and released it.

"Name's Would." He said, still leaning on the frame. "I'm the opposite of that little rat."

Could quickly looked up at me, and started to pant while wiggling his butt back and forth.

"So do you want to explain to me why Could is a dog?" I asked Would.

"It's pretty simple." Would replied, standing up and walking into his kitchen. "He's happy go lucky. He only see's what he wants to see happen. That's it. No forethought it put into planning for either good or bad things. Just go fetch the ball that's on the couch. But ignore the fact that you're too short and you're just going to inevitably eat shit on the edge."

I looked over at Could, and the tennis ball that was at his feet. He looked down, and pushed it off the couch with his nose.

"Okay so what do you do then?" I asked Would.

"I'm what would have happened." He drew on, taking a long swing from the milk carton. "What would have happened if you had studied for that test a little more? What would have happened if you had asked that girl out for coffee? What would have happened if you had done something differently?"

He sighed, and then switched doors to the freezer. He pulled out a bottle of vodka, uncapped it, and then took it over to the counter to face us.

"So what is it that you would like to know?" Could whimpered, looking between me and Would.

"I don't know." I stated. "Good and Bad just throw me at a door and tell me to go in."

"You seem surprised that we aren't arguing." Would mumbled through the mouth of his bottle.

"Actually yes." I sighed. "I don't know what to do now."

"I don't know, what could we talk about?..." Could trailed off. I looked over at Would, who was peering deep into his bottle.

"What?" He shouted. "You think just because he said 'could,' that I'm gonna go off on him. I'm better than that."

"That's a good one." Could laughed. "You do it every time that he's not here. You did it just the other day—."

"Shut up!" Would screamed, Could backing down in submission.

"What are you guys talking about?" I asked.

"The other day you were thinking of that girl." Would dribbled through another drink. "We thought about it. We argued about it. That's how it normally goes down here."

"All I was trying to say was what could have happened had you actually spoken your mind." Could stated.

"And all I was trying to get across is that what would have happened is no greater than what actually did happen."

"So let me get this straight." I said, nodding at Would. "You're a growly, depressed shithead."

He shrugged, and then took another drink. I pointed at Could.

"And you're a happy-go-lucky child who can't see anything wrong with the world?"

Could looked at me and smiled without saying a word.

"Cool." I exasperated. Reaching for the doorknob. "Bye!"

"Not so fast." Could stopped, the doorknob falling through the door. "You do have something on your mind, don't you?"

I sighed, and placed my head up against the door.

"I suppose I've been thinking a lot about this fantasy career where I spout fiction all day."

"Good luck." Would laughed.

"You just don't have enough faith in yourself." Could whimpered.

"Please." Would mumbled, walking away to his room. "I can't be bothered to hear this argument again."

"The dream that you want to succeed in; becoming a wealthy and fully independent artist who makes there living off of doing what they love: writing fiction novels. A lot of people have that dream you know? Except forget the whole "slim to none chance" thing, that I know you're thinking right now. If you try to fulfill your dreams, there will always be a chance. There is only a zero percent chance in the minds of people who cannot fulfill their own dreams."

I finally turned and looked at him. I could see the light burn brighter through the partly closed shades.

"To put it into perspective. You're standing 5,000 feet away from a paper target, and you want to hit a bull’s eye. But all you've got is a little dinky BB gun. Is it going to be hard? Yes. Will it take a lot of shots? Yes. Will it take time? Yes. Practice? Yes. Could you get lucky and hit it on the first try? Extremely unlikely, but yes, possible. No matter how you look at that target, it's going to be a hell of a lot easier to hit it than if you don't have a BB gun in the first place."