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."

Equilibrium

I traveled to the Monastery again. I once again made my trek up the steps that circled around the mountain, and hiked up to the stone stairs of the sanctuary. The hall hadn’t changed; I had expected Monk to take full control and make the place look nicer. But the torches that lined the hall were still dimly lit. Cobwebs encased the corners and ceilings, and dust caked the tables and the throne.

"How was your journey?" Monk asked from his doorway, his hands held in front of him.

"It was fine." I replied. "Does it ever get cold up here?"

"Why are you here?" He dodged. "Anger is subsided, and Good is back too normal."

"Because I need a favor of you."

"I do not give or receive favors from anyone." He held his hand up, and started to walk back into his

quarters.

"I need you to be the emotion in charge!" I called after him. He stopped, and began to reply without turning back to face me.

"Why is this?"

"After seeing what Anger could do to Good, I can’t take the risk of letting anything else like that happen. Someone needs to be in charge…"

He sighed, and turned around.

"The other emotions will tell you the same thing; that there needs to be someone in charge, someone to take the reins when everything goes inconceivably wrong. I can tell you personally, that that is not how this works."

"Well every time that something like this happens, I’m the one who gets blamed because I let the wrong emotion take control!"

"Enough." He held out his hand. "I will not be the sole emotion to take control, and have a direct influence upon the actions you make; that would give me too large of a voice."

"But what if that’s how I want it to be?" I pleaded. "I want the sanest voice to be the one in charge!"

"I will not take control." He shuffled to his fireplace. "This is my final answer."

I exasperated, and began to walk out of the monastery.

"Although," he started, "I do have a different offer."

"What?”

"I will not take control." He began. "However, I will teach you how to better regulate the emotions that you feel in life, so that you may listen to the perturbed voices, but never give them the power that they crave."

"My thoughts are just a giant power struggle, isn’t it?"

"In the minds of many, yes. Yes, it is."

"But if they’re all just my emotions, why can’t I have better control over who does what?"

"Have you ever thought as to why you never hear anything from Hollow?"

"Now that you mention it, no."

"It’s because you don’t feed him power." He started. "The emotions you feed, are the ones who feed into you, and gradually take control. If you feed the right voices, they will lead you down the path of righteousness. If you feed the wrong voices, you will be led down a path of lies, deceit, treachery, and hatred."

"So just listen to all of Good’s emotions and I’ll be fine?"

"You should listen to them, of course. But never let the voices of evil fall permanently from your mind."

"I don’t understand why?" I questioned, circling around and sitting at the foot of his cot. "Why would listening to them ever be a good thing to do?"

"Listening to the wrong voices and letting them control you will lead you to ruin. But taking into consideration what they have to say will they keep them alive."

"Why keep them alive?!" I shouted. "All this time I’ve been told by Good and Bad themselves that all of this is either Good or Bad!"

"They would be the ones to tell you that," he chuckled, "wouldn’t they?"

I stopped, and sighed. I collected my breath for an apology.

"Life is not a black or white path, choosing between Good and Bad. Almost every choice you make will fall in the area in-between. In life, Good and Bad will lead you down two separate paths. But these paths will not remain separated for ever. Sometimes they will run parallel with one another, and sometimes they will run over each other. And sometimes, they will run together, as the same path."

"So why keep them alive then?" I asked.

"The voices that you hear in your head as you live, tell you what they see." He began, lighting incense in front of the fire. "If you see evil or corruption in the world, it will not be Love, or Could, or Youth telling you about it. It will be Misery, or Would, or the King of Hearts. What do you think will happen if they weren’t there to tell you about these things?"

"I don’t know." I stuttered.

"Without them, you may fall subject to these corruptions." He continued. "They are more than just voices in your ear. They are sirens, alerting you to trouble at every corner. You need to listen to them. There is no other way."

I sighed, and hung my head down.

"You know what you feel.” He sympathized. “You just want to be able to control these emotions."

"Yes."

"I think I can help you achieve this. I just need you to trust me."

"You would think that this wouldn't be that hard of a process..."

"Coming to grips with what person you are is no easy feat." He stated. "Determining to what degree you listen to each emotion is a rigorous process. Each emotion has an opposite. Where one wishes to see you do well in one subject, the other wants to see you perish."

"Like Could and Would?"

"They are an example, yes." He agreed. "Each emotion has an opposite. And the process will teach you how to deal with each one; whether that be to praise their voice and hold it upon a pedestal, or to shut the voice out completely, until the crisis has ended."

"Your offer is to teach me this," I asked, "isn't it?"

"It is indeed."

"So who do we start with?"

"Not yet." He halted.

"I need to start this process now though?" I questioned. "You just told me that."

"You do indeed."

"So why not start it now?"

"Because each session will take a large amount of time." He finally turned around. "And time is not on our sides."

I looked out into the hallway, and the light glowed brighter through the doors and windows.

"Go and rest." He told me. "Go and take on your life. Come back to me when you are ready."

I stood up and walked out into the main hallway. Monk remained in his room, meditating in front of the fire. As I pushed the door open, I could hear weeping from Anger's quarters.

Reach

"You're not going to help me with this at all, are you?" I asked Bad. He sat back in his chair, looking up and down his bookshelf.

"Why should I?" He grumbled. "Isn't this all your problem to sort out?"

"But Anger is with you!" I shouted, making him jump.

"Look." He explained, turning to me. "There's a part of me that wants to go do something about this, because there is some unholy and unnatural thing about Anger being in control. But there's this other part of me that really enjoys seeing you like this. And you know what? That part wins."

"Can you at least tell me who can help me?"

"None of mine." He pursed his lips. "Maybe go talk to Love and see what she has to say."

I got up and left his house, without giving him a second glance. I walked until I hit the pink house, and Love was sitting on her porch, nursing her still unhealed wounds.

"Let me guess," she started without looking up at me, "Bad won't help you in any way, shape, or form so you're coming to me for help?"

"You're so good at this..." I sighed.

"What makes you think I can help you?" She glared, motioning at her wounds.

"Could you at least point me in a direction to go?" I begged. "Because I have no idea where to start with this."

"This seems like it's going to be something you're going to have to deal with on your own." She said, looking down the street. "You're going to have to go up to the monastery and deal with it yourself."

"I don't think I can do it by myself."

"Well it seems like every time you have the wild hair up your ass to do something, someone else gets sucked into everything!" She snapped, whipping back to look at me. "So I think it would be in everyone's best interest if you did it on your own!"

She was right. But I could see a fire burning in her eyes. Maybe Anger is up to something again? I thought. I walked down her driveway and back down the street, leaving her to her own accord. I looked past the town and up the mountain. The summit was still covered in a thick layer of clouds. I sighed, and began my trek up the mountain.

*   *   *   *   *

The clouds fogged my vision, I couldn't see the monastery until I nearly walked into the wooden door. I hesitated before pushing it open. The handle was warm, and a faint rumbling could be heard from inside. I pushed the door open. A dark, ruby orb was hovering above the throne at the far end of the main hall, emitting the subdued rumbling. The left entryway to Anger's domain had been blocked by snow white gate with golden ornaments. The right entryway now had a door, with the same light shining through its opening. Good sat on the throne. His eyes were closed. His suit had been torn and shredded, and it was stained red in spots. I began to walk down the hallway, but Good's eyes shot open, and he began to float above his seat.

"You are not welcome here!" He screamed, the orb glowing brighter and getting louder. His eyes were glazed over. He wasn't himself. I could hear Anger cackling from beyond his gate. I turned and ran towards Monk's door, and slammed it shut behind me. The rumbling faded instantly.

Monk sat cross-legged in front of his fire. There was a rose to his left, and a knife to his right. In front of him was metal bowl that held three, smoking incense sticks. 

"I was beginning to wonder how long it would take you to come here." He announced without turning his attention.

"It took me a while to realize what I needed to do."

"And what is that?"

"Come up here and fix the problem?" I stuttered. He tilted his head, and then rose to his feet.

"To find the solution to the problem," he began, walking over to his cot, "you must first find the root of the problem."

"Anger is now in charge." I told him. "And I need to fix it."

"And why is Anger in charge?" He pursued. "Why is he doing what he is to Good?"

"I don't know." I pursed.

"Good's mind has been shrouded by a cloud that originates from Anger." He explained, resting at the foot of his cot. "What I mean to ask, is why this cloud is here?"

I stopped short of answering. The fire still cracked to my left, and the rumbling persisted from behind me. 

"You are letting Anger take control of your thinking." He asserted. "In every aspect of your life, you are letting him take control."

"So how do I fix it?"

"Make sure he isn't in control." I could hear him smile.

"I don't know how to do that."

"With every problem that occurs in your life, there are a multitude of ways to solve them." He continued. "The way in which you solve problems is with him. If you change the way in which you solve problems, you will change the way you walk through life. And this means that he will no longer be the one in control."

I drew in a breath, but stopped as he motioned to the fire. He led me to where he was meditating, and held out his hand for me to sit down.

"While there are many ways in which to solve a problem, there are only two before you." He stated, walking back to his cot. "Pick one."

"Pick one what?" I pleaded, turning back to face him. 

"One solution." He replied as he laid down. He openly held his hands to his sides. I looked down, and the rose and the knife still sat there. I moved them in front of me, one on each side of the metal bowl. I began to grab for the knife, but I hesitated.

"I understand your trepidation." He answered from his bed. "It takes a lot for one to reach into their own soul, and change the way in which we live."

I hesitated once more, my eyes darting back and forth between the bright red rose, and the gold hilted knife. The rose still had beads of water on the outside of its petals. The knife had Chinese lettering, etched into the length of the blade.

"What do I do when I make a decision?" I asked aloud.

"You leave this room and face your problem." He announced, still laying down on his bed.

I grabbed the stem of the rose, and rolled it in my hands. Its thorns receded into itself, and it bloomed further. The stem grew and wrapped itself around my arm, sprouting full blooms as it went. I got up and reached for the door, my arm covered in scarlet blossoms.

"Excellent decision." He breathed, getting back up to continue his meditation in front of the fire. "I do believe that you should come up here more often."

I smiled as I rested my hand on the handle, and nodded. I pushed the door open, and closed it behind me.

Good woke up once more, and glared at me as he rose out of his chair.

"I thought you had left." He smirked.

"This isn't who you are." I declared, walking at a steady pace up to him. "You are listening to the words of Anger."

"These words are my own!" He screamed, slamming his fists down on the throne, rattling the entire building. 

"I'm here to strip you of your power."

"You will do no such thing!" Anger screamed from behind his gate. I turned and held my hand up to the gate, and the gate collapsed, and the door in front of Monk's room broke down. The lights in the building roared to life, even illuminating the dark quarters of Angers home. I turned back to Good, and held out the first rose to him. He floated back down to the ground, and grabbed it with his index finger and thumb. A wind tore outside the monastery, blowing the clouds off into the distance. Good's eyes returned to normal, and he walked out the main door to make his way down the mountain. The red orb shook violently, and then shattered as Anger screamed in despair.

Monk stood in the entryway of his quarters, and Anger kneeled down in his. I stood before the marble throne and peered at the two of them, as they glanced at each other. Anger pulled himself up to his feet, and shuffled back into his room, defeated. Monk turned to me and nodded. I began to walk out of the monastery, a bright white light peering through the door's edges.

"I expect you back here in the near future." He beamed, taking his incense up to the throne. I smiled with my eyes closed, and pushed the door open.

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.