Façade

It had been night for the first time since the party. There were streaks of light painted across the sky. The ice near my feet reflected it. The city below the mountain laid in a silent rest.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Monk said from the main door. He carried a lantern in his right hand, and a wooden cane in the other.

"Why isn't it always this beautiful?" I asked.

"It always is." He breathed, looking up into the sky. "You just have to look for it."

We both peered up into the night, and watched the orange lights dance between the clouds. The luminescence cradled the stars in its gentle arcs.

"Where are we going tonight?" I asked him.

"Just over there." He nodded over to the edge of the mountain. Two mats sat on the ground. We walked over and laid down. The show in the sky would be our backdrop.

"So who?" I asked.

"You know them very well."

"All that's left are you and Anger."

"Don't forget Misery."

"So you and Anger." I sighed. "Isn't the relationship between you two sort of self-explanatory?"

"Are you sure about that?"

"Pretty sure, yeah."

"I must ask a question." I stated.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one who asks questions?"

"Are you ever frustrated with your emotions?"

"I'm really hoping that that was a rhetorical question."

"Are you?"

I paused for a moment. Where was he going with this?

"Of course."

"What about me?" He asked.

"Am I ever frustrated with you?"

"Yes."

"Why would I be?"

He sighed and sat up. I continued to try to look through the night.

"I will not sit here and claim that I should be listened to more than Anger; I have an ignorant side, just like everyone else."

"I really don't get where you're going with this."

He sighed again, and looked out at the city. He was frustrated.

"I don't want to sit here and preach that I am a deity that needs to be listened to, above all else. I am ignorant, just like all of the other emotions."

"Why wouldn't I want to listen to you? You're a sense of calm; I really need that in my life."

"That's not why you shouldn't listen to me."

"Then what's the reason?"

"I just told you. It is my blinding ignorance."

"How are you?"

"I am too artful." He started. For the first time since I've met him, I saw his posture relax. "I let metaphors to define life, and make it easier to comprehend, impede my legitimate understanding of the world around me."

"I don't follow." I raised an eyebrow.

"We lie to ourselves. We do it all the time. It is harder to tell the lightest of truths than it is to tell the heaviest of lies. We refuse to lie to ourselves that everything is not okay; it hurts us too much to do so. Our lives are based on lies, because a bed of lies is easier to lay on top of than a single hard truth."

"What are you lying about?" I pleaded.

"I lie about the hard truths of life. When you deal with something, in the real word, we all have to deal with the repercussions."

"I know that."

"But I lie." He continued. "I sit up here atop my golden throne, and claim that I am fine. I claim that nothing is wrong with me. I make myself out to be this stoical monster, that only holds onto one emotion. Nothing can shake me; nothing will."

"There's nothing wrong with that." I stated. He stopped and turned back to look at me. "It's like what you said about Could. If you live life ignoring every bad thing that ever happens, you'll never grow. We, as people, think that if we turn a blind eye to evil and corruption, we will live a happier life. But they're wrong."

He didn't speak. He slowly turned back around too look out on the village.

"You're right. We have to lie to ourselves. We have to lie and say that everything is okay. But the way you and I do it is different. So many people completely ignore the fact that evil sits behind the walls of lies that they have constructed. You and I know what's on the other side of those walls."

"I think that that's how people such as yourself are able to make it through life." He finally declared. "We all have truths to tell, but they are smothered by the lives that we have created for ourselves; it's hard for us to tell them. So people such as you come along. You find a way to express the truths in the sea of lies. You find art. Art is the vehicle in which you deliver that righteousness."

"Okay now that's cheesy." I grinned. He laughed, and laid back down.

"So what about Anger?" I asked. "What more to him is there?"

"A lot." A voice said from behind, making us both jump. Anger was behind me. Mirroring my dark wash jeans and my ivory shirt. But I noticed the red iris' that dominated his face. I had never noticed them before.

"Please no." Monk whispered.

"Do I not get to represent myself?" He grumbled. "I am a lot more than just some pissy little teenager."

"Meaning?" I asked.

"I'm your fire." He grinned, looking up in the sky.

I thought back to the old days, back when it was just Good and Bad. I remembered how obsessed Bad was with fire. I thought I found the origin of that obsession.

"Could you elaborate on that?" Monk asked. Anger smirked, and then looked back down at me.

"There isn't a fire in your breath," he started, squatting down to be at eye-level with me, "but I can see it in your eyes. It's the same fire that allows you to hunt those who hunt the day."

He sighed, and stood back up, turning back to the Monastery.

"And that's all that any of us want: one more day."

Without another word, he went back inside. Monk and I remained silent until the door closed behind Anger. 

"He's right," I asked, "isn't he? He is my determination?"

"He is." Monk groaned. "He has more motivation and determination than I believe any one of us."

I laid back down. The stars were growing brighter through the aurora. 

"This was all very insightful." Monk declared, standing up and readjusting his robes.

"Am I ready for Misery?"

"After today," he continued, "yes, I believe so."

There was a flash of white light, and the stars reached down. They started wrapping themselves around me until they almost consumed me. I looked up one last time, and the orange and red lights had turned blue.