Clock

"You know," Bad began as I attended to Love, "I think you should stay back for a bit before heading back to the monastery."

"Why the fuck should I wait?!" I exclaimed, making Love jump. "Look what he did to her!"

"Do you have any idea what you're about to face up there?!" He shouted back, clearly annoyed with me. "Look dude, I know you're sick and tired of us going 'you're not ready yet.' Well, trust me for once and just listen!"

"Why should I?!"

"Look what he did to Good. Good for Christ's sake. If he can do that to Good, what do you think he'll be able to do to you?!"

I groaned. He was right. I needed to stop and think. But you can't let him slide after what he did to Love. I thought. Just imagine what he would do to the others...

"How about this:" Bad started, ushering me off to the side, out of earshot of Love, "just take a break and have a drink, and we'll figure out what to do later, once we have a better idea of what we should do."

"Wait until we figure out something to do?" I repeated. "Why don't we just go do?!"

"You're not listening." He sighed. "Just take a break and have a drink. Don't you think you deserve at least a break after all of that happened?

"I guess." I replied halfheartedly.

"Good..." Bad trailed off, almost seeming to hide a distant smirk. "How about you go find Host. I'm betting he'd be willing to hook you up."

"I will." I replied once more. I felt foggy. I wasn't all there. Something wasn't right. Bad pushed me off down the street and I kept walking. I put my hands in my pockets and didn't stop until I had hit Host's house. The tree's in front, as well as all of the cars and yard ornaments were covered in toilet paper. Neon flyers were scattered over the street and sidewalks. Broken glass covered the walkway.

"It's been a while," Host hollered as he opened up the door to greet me, "how about a drink?"

"That's exactly why I came here." I replied with a smile. He led me into the kitchen and pulled out a stool for me at the counter. The house was a mess, even more so than back at the party. But it looked different through the dust and garbage. There were walls were there hadn't been before. And furniture had shifted around the room.

"Everything alright?" Host asked while he rattled the cocktail shaker.

"Has the house changed at all since the party?" I asked him. He stopped short and looked surprised.

"No?" He answered, his brow furrowed. "Why would it have?"

"I swear that there are new walls than there were before." I continued, looking out into the living room.

"Well I don't know what to tell ya'." I grinned, pouring the brown liquid into two frosted glasses. He pushed one across the counter, where it stopped near the back of my resting hand. I noticed a clock that sat on the wall of the hallway that connected the kitchen with the other rooms of the house. I ticked loudly in a syncopated manner.

"Yeah," Host said as he leaned against the counter with his glass firmly grasped, "I need to get that thing fixed. It's actually been doing that since the party, I guess someone decided to elbow it or some shit."

I remained silent while I reached around and grabbed onto the glass.

"Cheers," Host held up his glass, "to good health?"

"I guess." I mumbled, holding up mine and clinking it with his. It tasted like mud, but it burned like an inferno. I winced and shut my eyes, painfully squeezing them shut. When I opened them, the orientation of the house had changed once more. The hallway with the clock now sat in front of me, instead of to the left.

"Dude!" I shouted. "Stop messing with me! What the hell did you put in this drink?!"

"What are you talking about man?!" He hollered back, taking another sip. "It's just whiskey and some mixer!"

But without drinking any more, the room started to move. Host wobbled back and forth, unaware to anything happening. And then I shut my eyes.

*   *   *   *   *

I was sitting at a desk, looking at a monitor that showed me a blank document. A sight that I was so familiar to looking at. The room was gray. Light bounced through the closed shades and cast shadows on the floor. A fan on the ceiling dragged itself in a circle. An empty, dusty bookshelf sat decrepit in the corner, and a large are rug covered the center of the floor.

I felt normal. Whatever was in the drink had subsided, and I was once again conscious of the page that sat in front of me. But I couldn't think of anything. I got up and left the room, walking to the kitchen. It was just as dark and dingy as the office. Empty bottles of alcohol were everywhere. There were some bottles neatly organized on the counter, and others were thrown haphazardly onto the floor. One jetted out of the dry wall, and another sat half shattered in front of the dishwasher.

I was not in control anymore. I reached into the cupboard and grabbed another bottle. It was vodka. The same kind that Would drank. I pulled myself back up, and a figure in all black stood in the doorway.

"What do you want Misery?" I asked him.

"Just coming to see how you are doing." He replied, almost happy. He took the bag from his back and pulled another bottle of vodka out, placing it on the counter. "Thought you were out."

"I'm fine." I grumbled, taking the first bottle back to the office. He followed me and looked over my shoulder as I drank. I slugged down a quarter of the bottle before I had realized it.

"Yeah," he growled, "I thought you were out."

"Would you let me concentrate?!" I shouted. But it wasn't me speaking to him. I was stuck in a body, stuck in a fight with him. I could only taste the burn of the vodka. I looked back at the page, and two paragraphs had appeared. But I had been stopped again by a noise. A ticking noise. Out of rhythm. I turned around, and Misery had vanished. There was Host's clock, mounted on the wall behind me. I took another swig as I peered at the clock. It would stick every once and a while, deconstructing its own rhythm, before going back and maintaining it for a while. And then it would disrupt. And then maintain.

The page had more fine-print paragraphs when I turned back. The more I drank, the more showed up.

"Shame." Misery snarled behind me. "You used to be so good at that."

"What are you talking about?"

"You used to be able to write." He mocked. "Until you discovered this shit."

"I don't need you."

"Yes you do." He laughed. I'm the only thing keeping you around..."

I glared at him with a halted breath.

"Not this again?" He sighed. "You didn't forget again, did you?"

I continued to sit with the bottle grasped in my palm.

"They're all gone." He exclaimed, motioning his hand out the door. "Good, Bad, Host; they all gave up on you. Oh and don't even get me started on Love!"

I didn't move.

"Remember when she used to be around?" He longed, leaning against the far wall. "Cute girl she was. She would have given everything for you. But every time she tried, you just plugged your ears and turned the other way."

Silence.

"You did that to all of them. You put them down and picked up the bottle. You retreated to your own sanctuary, and locked everything out unless it was a keyboard or another bottle. They wouldn't stand for it. I did."

I drank more.

"It's a shame when you were able to write without the alcohol." He repeated. "Oh what am I kidding. You were ever that good anyway! Now it's just fun to see you fall into this spiral that you've manifested; all by yourself."

There was a quarter of the bottle left.

"Now you depend on it." He gleamed. "I'm so glad I get to be the one to see you like this."

The bottle was empty. The liter and a half bottle. Gone. I turned back, and the page count had gone from two, to three-hundred and twenty. I looked back at Misery, and he had vanished. The clock kept ticking. But it never skipped a beat.

*   *   *   *   *

Host was asleep on the couch, still in the suit vest and slack that he was wearing when I came over. The house was back to normal. I shuffled over to a chair opposite Host, and collapsed into it. I heaved, and I cried into the arm of the chair. I heard the clock ticking down the hallway, the pendulum sticking for a few moments, and then carrying on its staccato rhythm.

Range

As the visits progressed, the world continued to be saturated in natural hues. The sky grew a truer blue, the asphalt got darker, and the streetlights grew brighter. But the other figures remained either white or black silhouettes. This time I was walking down the street towards the coffee shop with Good and Bad at my sides.

"So are you two ever going to tell me why the other people are still just monochromatic shadows?" I asked them, my eyes affixed on the playground on the other side of the street.

"Well," Good started, Bad laughing under his breath, "it's a bit of an odd explanation."

"Everything we tell him is odd." Bad laughed again.

"Everyone around here are the representations of people you know in real life." Good explained.

"So if I know them, why can't I see them?"

"Because when you come here, you're supposed to pay attention to us unless otherwise stated."

"Dude you sound like a lawyer right now..." Bad mocked from my right.

"No kidding." I chimed in. "But why are they monochromatic?"

"Whatever opinion you hold of that person in real life, their color represents that."

"What?" I shuddered. "White ones are the good ones and black ones are the bad ones?"

"Yes." Good stopped short. "Wait..."

"Is this just you telling me that I'm internally racist?"

Bad started laughing hysterically, almost falling on the ground.

"No!" Good screamed in retaliation. "That's just how you see Good and Bad!"

"I know; I've been like that for a while." I replied. "It's just that I'm suddenly very uncomfortable with that realization.

Good sighed, and flung his hands up into the air. The worlds shuddered. The shadowed silhouettes flickered, and faded to a deep red.

"There?" Good hissed. "Happy now?"

"Oh my God that was funny." Bad heaved, wiping his eyes and collecting his breath.

"Fuck both of you." Good grumbled. "Seriously."

"Whoa now." Bad cut in. "You're not old enough to use that kind of language."

"I know what's on your mind right now." Good glared at me. "It's been taking up a lot of your thinking as of late, hasn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I stammered, confused.

"Uh oh." Bad mumbled.

"You want to mess with me? How about I mess with you?" Good continued.

"Dude what the fuck is going on?" I leaned over in Bad's direction. But he only raised his hands up, shook his head, and backed up.

"This will be the last time that you mess with me." Good hissed once more. He held his open palm up to me, where a red light was being cradled. It flashed, and everything went dark.

*   *   *   *   *

My chest ached when I came to. Sitting up knocked the wind out of me. I was in a small room with silver, metal walls. But one wall had a window that was covered from the other side. From beyond it, I could hear a combination of laughing, and a distant cry for help. I winced as I heaved upwards, and supported myself against the window. I pounded on it a few times. Metal gears groaned below me, and the cover began to descend. It sheltered a large hallway in a rectangular shape, I was on one of the long sides. To the left, pops and flashes came from behind a metal grating. To the right, Love jumped left to right, gripping onto her shoulder. Blood seeped from between her fingers.

"Love!" I screamed, banging on the glass. She looked over at me, and stopped. She took a deep breath in, and closed her eyes. A white arrow came from behind the grate, and lodged itself into her hip. Her eyes darted open, and she screamed in pain, falling to the ground. More shots came, but they all missed. She ripped the arrow out of her hip, and continued to run around the coming munitions.

I hit the glass harder this time. I could swear that it was beginning to crack underneath my fists. I kept pounding on the glass, hoping that it would shatter so that I could escape and come to Love's aid. And while I thought that it was crumbling through my bloodied fists, it never so much as shuddered.

Who are these people. I asked myself. Why are they doing this to Love? She hasn't done anything to deserve this. The munitions rarely hit. They only seemed to strike Love when she seemed to find a pattern of evasion. And then she would be grazed in the arm, or side. And then they would keep on missing. Are they toying with her? I asked myself one more. Why? Why are they taking shots at Love?

The camber blurred away, and descended into darkness. When I opened my eyes this time, Bad was leaning over me with a confused look on my face.

"Uh." He stammered. I was sitting in his couch, in the home he shared with Good.

"What happened?" I asked him.

"Dude I have no idea." He replied.

"Where's love?"

"Probably down at her house. Why?"

"Is she okay?"

"Dude I don't know!" He shouted.

"Then why was I just watching her get shot for fun?!"

"What?"

"You heard me!" I screamed back at him. "She was getting shot at for someone’s amusement!"

"She didn't get shot with a bow and arrow did she?" He asked.

"Yes?" I answered, confused.

"Was the arrow white?"

"Yes?"

"Oh no."

"What's going on?" I pleaded, standing up and following him to the window. "What happened to Good?"

"You know, there's only one thing I'm scared of." He mumbled into the wall that he rested his head up against.

I stopped and cocked my head to one side. I looked out the window and up to the mountain where the monastery was. There was a bright white cloud that surrounded the summit.

"I'm scared of Anger." Bad finally said, looking out the window. All of the clouds turned white. "He's the only one that has ever tried to take over the wheel of this machine. And he almost did once."

"Yeah," I shuddered, "I remember."

"You know I don't do this whole 'friendly' thing that often." He told me. "But if there's one thing I don't want to happen, that's for him to be in charge."

"I don't understand. What happened to Good? Or Love?"

"It looks like Anger fucked with Good's mind. So now every positive emotion that you have is getting messed with, just because he wants to. You must not have made a good impression when you met him."

"He showed up for two seconds, pretty much said 'fuck you,' and then left." I told him, opening the door and beginning to walk down the street towards Love's house.

"Love should be fine." He called after me, running down the driveway to catch up. "If this is what I think it is, Anger is just messing with your head."

I ignored him. I started to run down the street towards her house. This isn't right. I told myself over and over again. Something isn't right. Something isn't right.

I stopped at the house with the pink garage door. A stained red bandage was wrapped around her calf and her shoulder. She sat in a wheelchair, the side of her pants stained red. Love hunched over herself, spinning a white, gold-tipped arrow in her fingers.

Speech

I never really pay attention to what I wear when I show up, but I'm certain I never dress in nice suits like I was this time. I was sitting in a chair of a theater, with red velvet chairs covering the floor, facing a large red curtain. The walls were a dark gold and the supporting pillars were marbled gray. All of the others sat in seats around me. Good and Bad were seated together, respectively, wearing white and red suits. Would sat in a suit a few rows in front of me, occasionally pulling a flask out of his jacket. I could see the ears of Could next to him. But none of them so much as looked at me when I turned around in my seat to look at them. They all began to clap when Love walked onto the stage. She wore a blue dress that contrasted her from the curtains. She stood at the podium and peered around the room.

"I am here to deliver a message to all of you; a message with regards to our own definitions." She spoke into the microphone. "I had a thought the other day about a life question. We all wonder who we are meant to spend the rest of our lives with. But some of us spend more time disillusioning the situation in which we meet this person in the first place. This is what I am here to speak about."

Would rolled his head backwards, and I could hear the King behind me scoff. Love gave both of them a glare, and then continued.

"We may think that we will meet this person in a bar late at night, as you both whisper sweet nothings into the empty glass, posed for another. We may think that we will bond with this person at a club, through blue-teeth and batted eyes in the black-light dotted room. We won't. The person that we are meant to be with will seldom ever spend time in these places in the first place."

Host mumbled underneath his breath to my right.

"There is a new light in the early morning hours, where the people that are meant to carry the power of the world find their inner self. They create the next masterpiece, devise the greatest plot, find the solution to their biggest problems. These people do not waste that precious time in a bar or club being sedated by a stream of empty glasses and thumping music. They will be at home, taking advantage of this light. So if you ever wonder who you are meant to be with, look our your window in the early hours of the morning. Look for the lights of the garage, where inside, a person spends the night banging their fingers and swearing at a car, trying to build their dream. Look for the lights of an office window, where inside, an artist is toiling over a piano or an easel or a laptop, criticizing their own work to the point of immolation in the hope that one day, it will earn them a career.

"You can look in the windows of the bar, where inside the person behind the counter spends their nights working a second or third or fourth job, hoping that it will one day open the opportunity for a single, great, occupation. Look in the windows of the library, where inside is the college student, tearing through the pages of an ancient textbook to study for their exam, pleading that an 'A' grade will stack into a degree, and eventually a better future. Look in the dining room windows, where a single parent buries their head in their hands, looking between the stack of bills in front of them, and their child sleeping in the other room; all they wish for is for someone else to be there, not for them, but so that they may help the parent set up a better future for their innocent child."

I thought I heard Hope quietly sobbing to my left.

"These are the people that we are meant to be with. They will not drunkenly scribble their number on our arm after a night of booze. They will not be the ones who stay after a night in the hotel after you met on the dance floor. You will not set fire to the matches you make in those places; matches don't burn forever. True love will be the fire that burns for a lifetime. You can't bring a match and expect it to last.

"I know that each and every one of us in this room as been hurt. And I am fully aware that that may be my own fault. And I know that to those of you who believe that, this is nothing more than a conciliatory appeal. But I urge you to believe that we are not irredeemably alone in this world. We may think that, and we may be told that, and whether or not it is true is up for us to decide; but I'd rather us say that it is wrong. We will find the person we are meant to be with, and we will spend our lives with that person."

A silence hung in the room. I could see small tears welling up in Love's eyes. She glanced quickly at me, and then closed her eyes. The room started falling away. The red velvet morphed into wooden stools, and the dress clothes gave way to loosened ties and button ups with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. The ornate theater had transformed into a bar.

Everyone was there. Good and Bad sat at the bar arguing over a glass of stout. Host was behind the bar, smiling as he spun glasses and bottle in his hands, jumping back and forth between the customers. Soul and Love gossiped while pouring wine for each other in the corner of the room. Hollow and Misery sympathized with each other over a crowd of empty shot glasses in the opposite corner. Youth and Anger played billiards, and Monk sat at the side, silently watching every move.

But one figure sitting at the bar drew my attention. It was her. My heart thumped to a stop, and everything slowed to a halt. The distant rock music faded away, and everyone turned towards me, anticipating me to do something. She still sat facing the collection of bottles that rested behind the bar; she was oblivious to the ceased commotion. I stood up, and shivered as I exhaled. My legs tensed and the fog in my head began to clear.

I'll do it this time. I thought to myself. This is where it starts.

But just as quickly as the bar came to be, the white void came to take it's place; taking away everything except for a table with three folding chairs. Good and Bad were standing behind two of them, looking at me and laughing quietly to themselves. The shook their heads, and turned and began to walk out into the void.

The light grew brighter. I knew what was coming. It always has. It always will.

I could hear her laugh echoing through vacuum.

Monestary

I stared up at the mountain that towered in front of me. The sky was light blue, and the peak was capped with snow. A small, stone building sat at the top. A thick trail of stone steps meandered up the mountain.

"You're ready to meet the last of the emotions." Good said from my right. He had his hands on his hips, and his eyes were set on the peak.

"Two left." Bad added. "One of mine, and one of Good's. You think you can handle it?"

"I sure would hope so." I answered.

"Alright then." Good turned toward me and smiled. "You know what to do then.

They both motioned towards the beginning of the path and stepped out of the way. I took in a collective sigh, and began to walk towards the trail. Each step was marbled and dark gray. It arced to the right into a forest and out of sight. I turned around at the tree line, and Good and Bad were walking back into the distant town. I turned and kept walking.

I was silent. No ambient noises called through the woods. I heard no birds chirping. The wind didn't run through the trees. The leaves didn't bounce across the steps. It was quiet. The only noises that I could hear were my shoes clacking on each step. I thought I heard noises behind me; fearful that Bad was trying to pull another prank. But every time I looked over my shoulder, nothing stood there but the path.

Halfway up the mountain, the path turned outwards. I stopped, and looked down at the town where Good and Bad lived. The colors flickered in and out, between bright and dark shades of suburbia, to the blinding white of purgatory. I kept walking the path.

*   *   *   *   *

The monastery at the summit had been beaten. The path led up to it, and its front faced away from the town. On the left side of the grand staircase entrance was a stone sculpture of a closed fist. To the right was another sculpture of a hand reaching up towards the sky. The steps leading up the door were battered, as if someone took a hammer to them, creating dings and divots in the marble. It was the same with the entire monastery itself. It didn't look to be weathered; it looked like it had been beaten. I knocked on the door, but it did not open for me like all of the others had. I pushed forward, and it creaked into itself.

Torches hung from the walls, faintly cracking while their lights shimmered on the floor. But it was still dark. The ceiling was coated in cobwebs and the light did not reach that far up, only illuminated by the glassless windows. It was cold. For the first time in this land, I felt temperature. The sky darkened, and thick sheets of snow began to fall outside. The main hall ended at a stone throne, which was also been caked in a thick layer of dust. A doorway to the right had more red and orange light from a fire. But the doorway to the left of the hallway was dark; none of the light was shining into it; the doorway was pitch black.

"Who goes there?" A voice asked quietly from the right doorway. I didn't answer. Footsteps entered into the hallway. A man stood there. He was barefoot, and wore saffron robes with red trim. He was bald, and had no face.

"We have been expecting you." He said without expression. He bowed his head down, but then turned to look at the other doorway. "We are waiting."

A grunt came from the other doorway. It sounded evil. It didn't sound like Would grumbling into the mouth of a vodka bottle. It didn't sound like Good rolling his eyes when I did something questionable. It made me feel dark. Another figure loomed out of the doorway. He was me. Every detail was the same, down to the color threads of my teal shirt.

"I'm not going to wait on this one." He growled, hobbling into the center of the room.

"Good and Bad had to prepare me to meet you both." I declared, turning back to the faceless man.

"We are aware." He replied, his hands folded in front of him. "They did this because they believe us to be the most domineering emotions of themselves."

I turned to the other figure. He stood still while sneering at me.

"I am Monk." The faceless man said, bowing his head. "I am your sense of calm and peace."

I looked again at the other man, and he had shifted his glance to Monk.

"Would you like me to introduce you?" Monk asked him. "Or would you like to do that yourself?"

"I'm pretty sure he's smart enough to figure out who I am." He said as he looked back at me. I shrugged slightly, and he rolled his eyes. "Okay, apparently not."

"This is Anger." Monk declared.

"If you need any further of an explanation," Anger started, "then you really are stupider than you look."

"I don't feel as though I needed to be prepared to face you two." I told them. Monk stood still, but Anger's eyes twitched.

"The one God damn credential I have and you shoot it down for me?" He snarled, turning around and stomping back into his entryway. "I did not come out here for this!"

There was a silence as his footsteps echoed through the building. Monk looked in his direction, breathing slowly and at a steady tempo.

"I thought Anger was supposed to be just that," I told Monk, "anger. Not a prissy little third grader."

Monk turned around and walked slowly back into his entryway. I followed him.

"So why is it, really, that I needed to be prepared?" I asked him.

"Because Good and Bad found it in their best interests that you be prepared when you meet, what they believe, to be the most important parts of themselves."

He led me into another small hallway, where a fire illuminated the room. He sat cross-legged in front of it, and began to burn incense with one hand while he took a tea kettle from the fire with the other.

"You know I kind of feel disappointed." I told him, standing behind him. "All this lead up with all of the others and then I meet you two."

"You have a problem with this?" Monk asked over his shoulder.

"Not in the slightest." I replied. "I was done with this whole meet and greet after I met Hollow."

He poured the tea into a cup, and set it on the ground in front of him.

"Good and Bad are right you know." He said.

"I'm sorry?"

"We do make up the most of you."

"I'm not sure I follow?"

"For the most part, you are a calm and level-headed person. Would you agree?"

"I suppose?"

"But sometimes, the angriest you ever get is when you get a little 'prissy,' to quote you. You don't become furiously angry, you only enter a state in which you need time to cool off to get back to your normal self."

"But I do get furiously angry." I told him.

"Not often." He replied. "Not even rarely. The others do a good enough job of suppressing Anger that he never gets to be that bad."

I sighed, and looked around his quarters. Faded and torn banners hung from the walls. A cot was shoved into the far corner, and a small dining table across from it in the other corner.

"Well," he began, standing up to face me, "I believe that that's it."

"What?" I stuttered.

"I believe that we have learned all that there is to for today."

"But I just got here."

"A short lesson is still considered a lesson."

"Aren't I supposed to come to some impressive self-realization?" I asked him as he started to walk out of his quarters. "Like, aren't I supposed to leave here having learned something about myself? And the way I think?"

"Who says that you didn't?"

"What about Anger? I heard a whole of three sentences out of him."

"These people that you meet are representative of how often their voices can be heard by you." He said. "You won't hear him speak much. But you really do not want him to, do you?"

"I guess not?" I asked.

"Good." The wind picked up and the snow started to blow into the monastery through the windows.

"So now what?" I asked him.

"Now that you know all of the emotions that are available to you; all of the ones that could possibly control you and your will, well, we'll just see what happens."

"You don't even know?"

"One can only assume that great realizations can come to you, now that you know more about the way in which you think, now that it can be construed into a definition that is more specific than the confines of 'good' or 'evil.'"

The light tore through the windows, illuminating the dark building.

"Never ignore the evil voices that whisper in your ear, but praise them for the way in which they make you appreciate the light.