Conduit

The monastery was silent; I couldn't even hear the wind blowing past the windows. The hallway that led to Anger's quarters was dark, and a faint glow came from Monk's room. I entered, but he was not there. The fire was out, and only a small candle illuminated the room. There was a new door in the back. 

"Hello?" I called out one last time. My voice echoed through the building. I was alone. I came up to the door and grabbed the bronze handle; it was cold. The door creaked open, and led into the room. The room where it had all began. The lone table with three chairs dominated the area. Faint, gray rings stained the table. One of the folding chairs had been thrown a few yards away, so that the remaining two face each other.

The door shut behind me. I whipped around, and a figure loomed in the distance. It came closer. I backed up, and took a seat in the furthest chair. A full-black outfit came into focus. A leather jacket, black denim jeans, and matching high-top sneakers. He wore a dark hoodie under the jacket, and the hood shadowed the face. He took his hands out of his pockets, and yellow bones grabbed onto the back of the opposite chair.

"It's been a while since I've seen you around." I addressed him. He didn't reply. 

"You're the last one." I continued. Still, no response.

"So what is it about you that I'm supposed to know?" I leaned forward and folded my hands on the table. He shook his head. He let go of the chair, and began to walk off into the blur. I was confused. I looked up, and a sun beamed down on us. Before he left, I waved the sun away. It receded into the horizon, and stars and the moon took it's place.

He stopped, and turned back around. He took his hood off as we walked back to the table. I was expecting him to be nothing more than a skeleton. But bits of flesh still clung to his bones. An eye still darted back and froth while remaining in its socket. He placed his hands on the table; he was missing a few fingers. But some were still in tact, flesh and all.

"I wasn't expecting this." I told him.

"We all have different shadows once the night falls." He growled, sitting in the chair. There were a few moments of silence while we looked at each other. I was transfixed on his single emerald eye.

"I was hoping I could talk to Monk tonight." I stated. "These are his lessons after all."

"Why do you tell me this?" He cocked his head.

"Am I not allowed to speak?"

"Preferably not."

"Okay I think I found the reason why I don't talk to you that often."

"You would think that."

"I'm sorry?"

"I bet you like to think you never hear from me." He moaned, leaning forward. "You like to think that myself and Hollow are nothing more than the tattered remnants from a past life."

"And Hollow is just that."

"Well I'm not!" He screamed, standing up and leaning over the table. "You deal with me every day of your life, and you know it!"

"Prove it." I smirked. I thought I won.

"Everyday you look in the mirror. Every time that you see something completely different than what actually exists. I am the veil."

"That's actually body dysmorphia and its more of a mental thing."

He cocked his head over once more and began pacing behind the table. I leaned back and placed my hands behind my head. I thought I was fine. Monk had taught me well. He stopped, and slowly turned back to me. He pulled a Polaroid out of his jacket pocket and tossed it on the table. It was me. I stood in front of a lavish house, holding a book in my right hand, and she grabbed onto the other.

"What is this?" I asked.

"This is the portrait of your life." He started. "This is what you imagine and hope it to be."

"Okay?"

"We all have these images. We all know where we want our lives to be. When we gain ground in the everyday, the image changes, we want more. But when we lose ground, the picture becomes less populated."

"Very insightful." I shrugged with a smile. "I don't know what you expect me to do with this."

He sighed. He took the picture back and ripped it up into pieces.

"I learned a long time ago to never put to much faith into your own aspirations on life." I told him. "We all want to be somewhere. But no matter what we do, we'll never be exactly where we want to be."

"I don't think you gather my meaning." He grumbled. "I'm the veil"

"You said that already."

"I am what separates you from the life you want to live, but I push you away from the world."

"Sorry?"

"I separate your mind from your body. I separate your physical footing from your emotional footing. I work inside you to uproot everything that you know. I will not let you go or do anything in life."

"Okay?" I asked.

"Are you not afraid?" He asked, placing his cold hand on my shoulder.

"No." I replied. "Not really."

"Please, do tell."

"Not to long ago I had an experience that put my life back into perspective." I explained. "I know where I want to be in life, but I have to live from day to day; that's the only way to do it."

"But even then, you have trouble doing that, do you not?"

"I guess."

"Have you ever wondered why?"

"Sometimes?"

"I am the agent of conduit of chaos in your life." He snarled. "Every time the components of your inner self begin to separate, I am the vehicle in which they are pulled apart."

I grinned at him. Then I started laughing under my breath.

"You think this is funny?!" He shouted.

"Kinda, yeah." I chuckled.

He was confused. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even move from the cloud upon which he stood.

"The vast majority of us hate it when either ourselves, or someone else refers to us as "art." We hate it. We hate being associated with this thing that is pristine, and perfect. But a mosaic is considered art, isn't it? A mosaic is the artful amalgamation of many broken and segmented pieces; none of them are whole, yet they are still considered art. So why is it that we, as people, who are comprised of those same broken and segmented pieces, wish to be whole?"

He lowered his arms, sighed, and walked off into the distance. The door opened once more, and Monk emerged. He was sniffling, and bowed his head when he walked up to me.

"You have no idea how proud I am of you."

"For what?" I shrugged.

He sighed, and motioned into the sky. The stars were brighter. And the moon sent a beam of light over the door.

"You have passed the tests." He spoke.

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.

Vice

I never thought that the process would be so tiring. As I made my was up the stone stairs, I looked down onto the village, suspended in the void. It was growing color with each lesson. Maybe me learning more about them made the world more colorful?

"I think you'll like today's lesson." Monk told me, standing in front of the main door.

"You actually leave the monastery?" I asked him with a grin.

"On occasion." He bowed, motioning for the door. I nodded as I walked past. I pushed the door open, but it did not lead into the inside. It led into a forest.

"I think I've been here before." I said aloud. 

"You have." Monk replied, closing the door behind him. I looked at the other side of the nearby river. There was a small clearing, surrounded by burnt stumps. Footsteps were dotted into the exposed topsoil.

"That's where Bad went crazy for the first time," I turned to face him, "wasn't it?"

"It was." Monk nodded, sitting in the grass near the river. "Does that lead you into why we are here?"

"Are we talking about Anger?" I asked.

"Actually," he said, "no it is not."

"Really?" I said, surprised. 

He nodded, and pointed once again to the other side of the creek. I saw something I hadn't saw before. There were bronze bottles scattered in the remaining patches of grass.

"Oh," I hesitated, "so we're talking about Host?"

"Correct."

"He kind of seems like an idiot." I started. I turned to Monk. He looked out into the forest. "But let me guess, there's some confound reason I should listen to him because he plays a role that is larger than I expect?"

He finally turned to me. He would be smiling if he could.

"Before we look at what Host truly does, we must first look at his opposite; Soul."

"I haven't seen her in a while."

"And why do you think that is?"

"I honestly have no idea."

"What does she do?"

"I don't know?"

"You do." He sighed. "She has told you before."

"No she hasn't?"

"Immediately after the split; where you dissected Good and Bad into what they truly are. She was there."

"Oh yeah," I exclaimed, "she deals with common sense doesn't she?"

"Yes."

"So what you mean to say is that I haven't been using a whole lot of common sense as of late? That's why I haven't seen her?"

He shrugged.

"Okay I'm not that bad."

"It's not that you haven't been utilizing common sense, it’s just that other emotions are more powerful than she is."

"Like who?"

"All of them."

"No they aren't."

"Yes," he emphasized, "they are. Any one emotion has the power to overpower Soul; even me. But as of late, other emotions like Love, and Could have been making the decisions for you."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not all decisions are made with reference to common sense."

"So you're saying that I should listen to her more?"

"Honestly," he started, holding up his hand, "I think you are doing fairly well with her."

"Why is she just a ball of light?" I asked. "And what's with her voice changing?"

"She is just how you connect common sense; the wisest people you know are women."

"I mean yeah," I began, "so why isn't she just my mom? Or grandmother?"

"Because there is more than one figure that provides you with wisdom. Some of them are men as well. It is how you perceive them in a single amalgamation; her appearance is nothing more than an avatar that you created."

"Could that be said about us?" I asked.

"How so?"

"That we're avatars too. We'll never be the avatar that we intend to be."

"So then what are we?"

"When we hold up the undeveloped film to the light, we don't see ourselves in the film. We aren't the film; we are the light that shines through."

"That was very insightful." Monk declared.

There was a silence in the forest. The water danced off the rocks in the creek, and birds called to each other in the distance.

"So then," I cut in, "what role does Host play?"

"He is your release." Monk told me. "He is your release into unconsciousness; that's what he prefers."

"He drinks from the bottles that drain him dry."

"No." He stopped me.

"That's what he told me when I met him."

"He drinks from the bottles that drain you dry."

"So," I hesitated, "do I stop drinking?"

"Only if you see it fit." He replied. "To keep him under control, do not let pleasure, and a release to the unconscious become your vice."

"But a lot of things do that for me; not just drinking." I exclaimed. "Just sitting on my bed and not moving gives me a release to the unconscious."

"A vice is a flaw." He began, slightly agitated. "A critical flaw; a shortcoming. Relaxing is fine, and healthy for you. But doing things that will become a hindrance are not."

"So why listen to him then?"

"He plays a much larger role in your own courage."

"Oh well in that case, he isn't shouting loud enough."'

Monk sat up and sighed, looking at me.

"I'm sorry." I mumbled.

"Many people call alcohol 'liquid courage.' They're right to a degree."

"So when Host takes control, I make better decisions?"

"No, you find the courage to go through with those decisions; he certainly does not come up with them."

"I'm not quite sure I follow."

"If you ever feel completely at ease making a decision that will forever change the course of your life, you are not thinking through enough. Those decisions, whether or not they will ultimately lead into a new life, or have the potential to do so, so should be very uncomfortable making that decision." 

"So," I asked, still confused, "Host gives me that assurance?"

"No." He breathed. "The others will deliberate on whether or not to do something righteous. But they will never be the ones to push you forward. But Host will always be willing to do so. But be wary."

"Because he'll try to push no matter what?"

"Exactly."

I stopped, and tried to follow his gaze out into the forest. The sky grew lighter. It was time to go.

"We are almost done." Monk whispered.

"Two more deliberations?" I asked.

"Yes."

"And what then?"

"I do not know."

"If the goal of all of this is to come to grips with myself, I'll know myself by then. What happens after?"

"There will be more." He laughed.

"What?"

"Only those who are the shallowest, ever fully know themselves." 

Abandon

"Are we ready to continue our lesson?" Monk beamed, standing next to the rear door.

"I'm sorry about last time." I apologized. "I was in a dark place. I couldn't talk about other emotions."

"Why do you apologize?" He asked. "This is a lesson in you growing into control of yourself. If you need to talk about something, it would be best if you talked about it."

I looked up at him. His hands were folded in front of him. He looked as if he were smiling. He drew in a breath, and then took quick glances between the door and me.

"Shall we?" He asked, motioning towards it.

"Yes." I replied. He led me through the door, and it opened into a rock face.

"Careful now." He cautioned. The door faced towards a large rock wall, with only a few feet of room to get out from the sides. The rocks underneath my feet jutted out to a peak, where a cascade of water fell in front.

"Where are we?" I asked. 

"Do you not remember seeing this waterfall on the way up to the monastery?" He asked, sitting down near the point. 

"Is this what this is?" I asked.

"This is my favorite place in this town." He sighed. "I've found that my most successful meditations are found here."

I sat next to him, and reveled in the silent roaring of the waterfall.

"So what emotions burden you today?"

"I don't know." I replied. "Should we just go down the list of whoever's left?"

"We may." He stated. "Who was it you met first in this new world?"

"I think Good and Bad had me meet Hollow and Youth first."

"Ah," he laughed, "the troubled pairing."

"Aren't they all troubled pairings?"

"To an extent, but Youth and Hollow are different than the rest."

"How so?"

"Because you hear from Hollow even less than you do from Anger. You experience feelings of anger and resentment more than you do feelings of depravity."

"Hollow and Misery sound fairly similar." I added.

"They are." He noted. "They are two sides to the same coin. They both aim to drag you down when you experience the two ends of the spectrum of life. When you are your highest, Misery will be there to try and knock you down. But when you are at your lowest, Hollow will be there to drag you down even further."

"So how does Youth fit into this?"

"Youth is your longing for hope in the future."

"So Youth and Could are similar too?"

"Yes, in that they both have a healthy helping of optimism. But when you are at your lowest, you will not look kindly into space, thinking about what could happen. There are not concrete ties to reality. But Youth serves this purpose. He will help you to think about what could happen if you stand up and keep walking, but he will root it in reality."

"So then Youth serves a lot of my feelings of nostalgia?"

"Correct."

"So that's it?" I asked, finally looking at him. "Youth is only there to be nostalgic and optimistic?"

"Yes," he held up a finger, "but he serves a purpose even greater than the two."

"And what would that be?"

"Curiosity."

"You know; I would think the corgi would deal much more with curiosity."

"One would think, yes." He laughed. "But when you hunger to learn or do something new in your day to day life, that is Youth speaking into your ear.

A silence cut its way between us. I thought that the waterfall would be deafening. But it sounded as if a small creek was nearby. I could feel the mist drifting into us.

"So then is that all that Hollow does?" I spoke. "Make me feel more like shit when I already am?"

"That is most of his job, yes. But there can be instances where this is a good thing."

"Please..."

"Pardon?"

"He only serves that on purpose!" I shouted. "He grabs onto my leg, and begs for me to not to leave him behind; all the while exclaiming 'do not abandon me, for I have already abandoned myself!' He's just a dead-weight, isn't he?"

He laughed and shook his head. He drew in a breath and then turned back out to look at the cascade.

"This 'dead-weight' as you describe him, can save you; he can drive you to further success than be possible without him."

"How?"

"When you're crashing, you create new all-time lows for yourself. Hollow senses this, and strives to drag you down even further from within your own soul. But you need to be able to bounce back once you are mentally and emotionally ready. And what makes you bounce back further than a little extra weight?"

"Are you comparing life to a giant trampoline?" I asked.

"Perhaps?" He chuckled. "But do you understand what point I am attempting to arrive at?"

"Momentum." I stated. He turned his head and looked at me. "It's easy to bounce back when you start at the ground. But when you go even lower than that, and see what it's like to be lower than low, it’s easier to go even further."

He nodded his head silently.

"You should take my place as monk."

"Do I have to shave my head?"

"Preferably."

"Then it ain't gonna happen."

We both laughed and stood up. He led me back to the door.

"Who else is left to talk about?" I asked him.

"The last two pairings are myself and Anger, and Soul and Host."

"Wait," I began, stopping short once we entered the monastery, "what about Misery? Who's his opposite?"

"You'll see." He chortled, leading me towards the main doors.

"I don't like being in suspense." I sighed.

"It's not suspense," he turned, "if it's in your own head."

"I swear if you had eyes, you'd be blinking right now, wouldn't you?"

"Probably." He laughed. I pushed open the door, and the light flooded in. The door shut, and locked behind me.

Corrupt

I walked with painful steps up to the monastery. Each step took a burden on my soul. The door swung wide, and Monk was waiting near the throne for me.

"Are you alright?" He asked, walking over to meet me. 

"I don't know." I shuddered.

"I'm going to go ahead and assume that we are dealing with love once more, correct?"

"I don't know what to do." I whimpered, doubling over.

"Speak." He responded, leading me to his quarters. "Tell me what you are feeling."

"You know about the other night, right?"

"I do indeed." He stated, having me sit on the bed while he sat on the floor in front of me. "The first time in a long while that you have felt the warm embrace of another."

"It didn't feel right."

"I'm sure the King will beg to differ." He chuckled. I looked up and glared at him, and he stopped.

"I apologize." He bowed his head. "Please tell me what you are feeling."

"I don't know what I'm feeling anymore." I replied. "But it still just didn't feel right."

"What makes you say this?"

"I don't know!" I shouted, making him jump. "I don't know why I'm feeling like this! I should be elated! I should be at peace! But I'm not! I've never felt more distressed."

"I fear that I know what you're going to say."

"I fear that since I've been alone for so long, through such pivotal parts of my life, that I'm too far gone."

He got up and slowly paced towards the fire. I could hear him breathing quietly.

"I've been alone for so long; I'm scared that I'm supposed to be alone. I've trained myself to deal with life alone. And now that I can feel the touch of someone else's skin, I resent it. I'm not supposed to though."

"I knew that Love was not whole." He stated, placing the tea pot in the fire. "But I did not know the extent to which she was."

"Is she fighting against me?" I pleaded. "She's supposed to make me feel love! But now that I can, she won't let me."

"This is not solely her own fault." He assured. "She has been through just as much as you have, perhaps even more. When you deal with heartbreak, she steps forward to take the full front of it. Then she steps back into the shadows to let the others take care of you."

I shuddered in the stillness. Monk did not turn to look at me, rather he glared into the fire.

"I've haven't felt a peaceful bliss like that in a while. With her breath on my shoulder, and her arms around me. But I haven't slept since then, I've never been more at arms with myself."

Monk did not say anything. He continued to look into the fire steam starting to come out of the teapots spout.

"Maybe I'm destined to be alone?" I mumbled into my hands. "The one who's destined to lock himself into his vaulted keep, and sit upon the highest tower, laid to rest alone with his stories. The ones that he throws onto paper, and the ones that haunt his mind. But there will be no one else within the keep, for every time that someone comes close, the stories force me to shoo them away."

"We are not preordained to destiny." Monk finally said. "No one person, whoever has or ever will exist, has a destiny. Life only becomes great to live once you make it worth something to live. And the more you say, the more I suspect that King is the one who is corrupt."

I looked up at him through watered eyes.

"King has no power." He turned. "He is nothing more than a gatekeeper, to guard the grandest and most complicated emotion that we will ever experience. He haunts and torments you when there are no souls drifting past his gate, but then he keeps them out once they try to enter?"

I didn't say a word. The fire calmed itself, and steam from the teapot subsided.

"This is a far greater problem than I expected." He announced. "For while Love is still broken and shattered from a history of neglect, the King lets no one in, even the ones who may help her become whole once more."

I stared out into the hallway. Monk turned back to face the fire.

"I thought the embrace of a lover would save me." I whispered. "But this is just an all-time low."

"You mean to say that you are uncomfortable?" Monk asked. 

"Extremely." I replied. I could see the light shining brighter through the windows in the hallway.

"Then there is only one way to pass through your current predicament."

I looked up at him.

"The only way in which you may grow as a human being, is to become comfortable, with being uncomfortable."

Dismay

When I walked into the monastery, the fire was not crackling from Monk's room. The lights that dotted the corridor had been extinguished, but they were still smoking. A new, crimson rug covered the bulk of the floor. Monk was standing with his arms held in front of him at the far end of the hall, next to an old wooden door.

"Come." He beckoned me with an open arm. "It is time for your next lesson."

"Where are we going?" I asked him, glancing over at the still darkened quarters of Anger.

"We're going outside for this lesson."

I closed my eyes as I went through the open doorway. I was confused when I opened them once more. Monk closed the solitary door behind him, standing in the abyss of purgatory. 

"This is outside?" I asked.

"Why not?" He beamed. He walked past me, and held out his arm for me to follow. He walked further into the void, seemingly without a destination in mind.

"This place just reminds me of the early days with Good and Bad." I droned, putting my hands in my back pockets.

"I remember those days." He acknowledged.

"You do?"

"Of course," he laughed, "back in the day when I was nothing more than a voice in Good's head. Things were far simpler back then, were they not?"

"Yeah, they were."

There was a silence as we walked out into the abyss. My shoes clacked against the floor, and Monk's bare feet glided over the ground in a hush.

"So who are we talking about today?" I asked him.

"You tell me." He replied.

"Can we not go through this again?" I complained, rolling my eyes.

"I will give you the same answer every time you ask that same question." He waved a finger at me. "You need to be the one to tell me what is wrong."

"Okay." I sighed, peering around the vacuum. "I guess I'm feeling a little down with regards to the future."

"Anything different from what we discussed last time?"

"Yeah, actually." I pushed the hair out of my face. "I mean I guess I'm not feeling as optimistic as I usually am."

"Ah." He discovered, exhaling. "So this is a matter of Could and Would?"

"I guess?"

"Tell me more about them?"

"What is there to know about them? Would is a dismal, depressive shit head with an alcohol problem. And Could is a fucking Corgi."

"Watch your language?"

"Seriously though, why is Could a Corgi?"

"Because that is how you represent the ideal of optimism."

"That says a lot, doesn't it?"

"So why is it that you are having trouble listening to Could?" He changed.

"Because sometimes it's a really bad decision to be optimistic."

"How do you mean?"

"If you're optimistic in a hopeless situation, you're just wasting your time."

"This is true," he continued, "to an extent. But how often is it that you listen to Would?"

"Honestly?" I began. "I don't know. His voice doesn't stand out to readily."

"Could you think of a reason why listening to him would be beneficial?"

"I mean, maybe just as something good to look back on?"

"Not quite."

"Then why don't you explain?"

"Would is actually quite a complex emotion." He explained, speaking with his hands. "You view him, primarily, as a stark reminder to look back on the past and revel in your own selfish satiations. He creates the fantasies for you to escape to, but only after he convinces you that you could have done something different, in order to have made that fiction a reality."

"In that light, he sounds like nothing more than a nuisance."

"Not quite." Monk continued. "Because while he can disillusion you of your past decisions, he is your primary source of fear."

"Fear of what?"

"Fear of everything." He breathed. "Every time that you experience fear, or feel frightened, it stems from Would own created semblances."

"So listening to him is actually worth doing in certain occasions?"

"Correct." He stated. "For a human without so much as a remnant of fear, will be led down a road of destruction. Feeling fear will keep you alive when need be."

"But what about the rest of the time? Should I listen to him any other time?"

"No." He hissed, baring his teeth. "Because the same fear that he provides to keep you alive, will lock you in the past, and hold you from moving forward."

"So Could will keep me moving forward, but Would should keep his voice down?"

"In your everyday life, yes."

"But when things go wrong, their roles reverse." I carried on, explaining to myself. "Would will be the one to keep me alive, and Could should be the one to stay quiet?"

"You are coming along very nicely with regards to your emotions." He beamed.

"But why do they hate each other so much?" I asked. "All the others are opposites of themselves, but none of them dislike each other like Could and Would."

"Because fear and enthusiasm will always be at war with one another. But you must always remember, all of these emotions, regardless of what they say, are all just parts to the same whole. They are far similar with one another than you may ever know."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "I thought all of this was about looking at each emotion in comparison to its opposite, and then vice versa?"

"Yes, but only as a means to train you to become the master of your own emotions." He revealed, the door showing up once again in front of us. "But every emotion is connected to each other. And you will always be able to go from one emotion to another if you search, and find a way."

He opened the door, and the piercing white light bowed on the other side of the opening.

"Any last remarks?" I asked him, taking a step into the light. He cocked his head to the side, and then lowered it as the light consumed me.

"Never let fear turn you against your playful heart. You may fear, or you may love everything."

Castle

"So where do we start today?" I asked Monk. It was early. The town at the base of the mountain was still rising from its slumber. The light from behind the summit had yet to come from through the windows.

"We first start by finding the roots of your current problems." He replied, sitting down perpendicular from the fire, motioning for me to sit across from him. "It is from there we delve deeper into the soul."

"Well in that case," I smiled, "we're gonna be here for a while."

He did not chortle in return. He grabbed a tea kettle from the fire and placed it between us.

"What is it you want most in life?" He began, reaching for two cups.

"Sorry?" I stopped.

"What is it you want most in life?" He repeated without a change in tone.

"To be happy?" I stuttered.

"Well of course." He beamed. "But what is it you want right now?"

"To..." I drifted, "be happy? I'm sorry where are you going with this?"

"You can say a lot about what you want your life to become; especially with someone with as articulate of a mind as you." He said while pouring out the tea. "But as problems arise in our life, that vision is altered. Sometimes minutely, and sometimes drastically."

"So you really just want to know what I want?"

"Yes."

"You don't already know?"

"I know everything about you." He handed me a cup. "But you need to be the one to say it; not me."

"I want to be successful."

"Go on?"

"I want to be a successful writer." I thought. "That's really the biggest thing. Everything else will just fall into place around it."

"As much as I can appreciate an axiom such as that, I want you to paint me the picture of your future. You know what it looks like. Show me."

"Uh," I faltered, "I mean outside of writing, I just want to be happy. I want to be independently wealthy from it so that I can help my friends and my family. I want a close group of friends to be there with me. I want to travel and see the world. I want to be with someone special throughout all of it."

I stopped, and drew in a breath.

"Ah," Monk stated, "I believe that we have found your current problem."

"So how do I work around this?"

"I need you to think back to when you first met Love and the King of Hearts." He asked, straightening his back. "Describe them to me."

"Well, Love is just love, right?"

"Love is your representation of the emotion of love. She embodies the physical attraction that you find in people, but also the deep emotional bonds that you will make with people."

"So then what does the King represent?"

"The idea of being in a relationship." He expressed. "The King preaches a dogma that one must be next to him, on a throne. He thinks that someone just being there is enough to satiate the hunger that Love craves. But is ideology is nothing more than a fallacy, built on top of a castle of cards."

"So then why bother listening to him in the first place?" I asked, drinking the still scalding tea.

"Because when the King of Hearts speaks up, you find the courage to go search for romance."

"Isn't that Love's responsibility?"

"If Love is left to be the one to guide you in the direction you want to be in, you will never find a forever-lasting love. But if you leave the duty to the King, you will never maintain a relationship for too long."

"So," I started, "the King will guide me to love, but Love will help me keep it?"

"Correct." He held his hands out.

"So then why is it so much harder than it seems to find romance in the first place?"

"Because neither the King, nor Love are whole; they are both damaged from the past."

"I am too..." I sighed.

"But the only way to make them whole again is to let life takes its course; let King guide you in the right direction, and then let Love take over."

"I just want someone." I mumbled. "I want to hold them in my arms and share in their warmth at night. I want to kiss their lips and share with them both the secrets and truths that bind my life together."

"And the King will lead you in that direction."

"But I want that some person to be more than just that." I wiped a tear from my eye. "I want them to be there for the rest of my days. I want them to be just as close with my friends as I am to them. I want them to be there when I reach the highest summits, but I need them to be there when I fall into the abyss, and I can't find a way to get out."

"And Love will help to find that person too."

"But it's like I can't."

"Explain."

"I am, at the same time, equal parts 'desperate to share my entire life with someone,' and 'desperate to keep my soul shut from anyone who would dare venture that deep.' Is that normal?"

"Given your circumstance," he assured, "I would say yes."

"It should be easier." I continued. "But it isn't. There's been a gap in my heart for a very long time."

"What has happened when you try to fill it?"

"I don't try that often."

"And why is that?"

"Because I'm afraid that the piece that fills it will never fit." I whimpered. "And I'm afraid to even try in fear that I'll damage whatever's left around it."

There was a silence that filled the hall. I heard the ashes of the incense fall into the bowl.

"This is a hard spot to get out of." He murmured.

"The wind blowing through the gap has gotten colder as of late." I told him. "I want to fix it, but I'm too scared to."

"I understand."

"What do I do?"

"This is, unfortunately, the part where I tell you that I don't have an answer."

"Why not?"

"These sessions are so that you may find yourself, and so that you may be the one to find these answers on your own. So that you may look at these emotions and let them lead the way."

"You don't even have so much as advice as to what I should do?"

"I do."

"What?"

"Let Love and King be the ones to guide your actions. King will find someone, and Love will get you attached to them."

"What then?"

"You'll know." He smiled. "You're smart enough to know when life shows you a path. And you're smart enough to let your instincts guide you down that path."

He stood up, and walked to the door, motioning for me to follow.

"Come back to me when you are ready once more." He told me, walking with me to the front door.

"How will I know when it's time to come back?"

"You'll know." He nodded, opening up the door, letting in the piercing light. "The voices will grow too loud."