My fourth chapter, now with three followings and one review! Suggestions for the next two chapters are still incredibly appreciated! Stay tuned for another chapter - maybe not tomorrow, but later, I promise! Also, yes, I did include a bit of Starnerve last chapter. Register trademark? :D Anyway, I sincerely hope you enjoy. This one's got the most words in, anyway.
ANGER
Ho ho, this guy. I wasn't giving much of a hint as to who I would do next, because Fear's all-too-creepy following was the least questionable thing that happened over the past years. I was left with a choice between three of what possibly may be the most irritating organisms on the face of the earth, and the most hazardous diseases since the Bieber fever. It's like choosing how you want to die from either a cobra, a noose or a pistol shot to the head. He's got a frisky temper and he's a walking time bomb just waiting to go off. If the school bully, or, heaven forbid, your own dad had Anger as a lead emotion, you know childhood's going to suck. And if you were a mind worker with him as an employer – well, you'd better make sure the coffee you're serving him is steaming hot and the newspaper's nicely folded, because getting thrown into the memory dump will be the least of your worries.
Despite the constant feeling of hostility I'm building up towards this guy, he only really wants what's fair for Riley. I just know that once this gets out, he'll tear the place apart looking for me, so the publishers had better have that bomb bunker ready. Anger is like that sort teacher who sits all relaxed with a misbehaving class, then at some random day at some random moment for some random reason he'd suddenly yell: "That's it! Detention for EVERYONE!" and force you to write six copies of the school rules. I mean, please dude. There's a difference between a little hostility and going nuclear.
Anger's bad luck began when Riley was two. The very year, he was incarnated, in fact. Despite sounding about sixty years old, he was only eleven at this point. Again, another fact that's going to get me skinned alive.
"Take care of yourself." Her uncle had told her one day, clasping his new relative in a long goodbye and travelling to Texas to get shot in a poorly planned bank robbery. Riley was then stuck with her miserable aunt at Saturdays, a failed musician whose career highlight consisted of being thrown overboard by several hungry fisherman who claimed they wanted cod and not the latest Nirvana rip-off for lunch. If Anger had gotten closer to emotions such as Fear, attempting to talk with them instead of strangling them, he would have learnt that life wasn't a perfect ride. But he didn't. He stayed wrapped up in his independent beliefs and refused to look any further, having lost his (already faded) ability to see the humour in anything.
So did he stay enclosed in his own enraged dreams for the rest of Riley's existence? If you guessed no, you're learning. A certain day was bad in Riley's life – her first secondary school exams. Everyone was bustling around trying to find every single recurring memory about multiplying fractions, while Anger sat on the couch and stuck out his leg a few times to see whether he could trip someone over, mainly Fear.
"Oh, and by the way" Disgust suddenly told him, trying to look dignified with armfuls of sad and happy orbs weighing her down (Failing spectacularly, you'll be glad to hear), "Riley's teacher says she may fail this year if she doesn't get full marks."
Anger didn't look up from behind his newspaper.
"Yeah?" he said flatly. "So?"
"You'll be needing to keep her determined through this, or she'll fail. And I know that you know that I know Fear will be getting all the praise tonight by keeping her worried and anxious in order for her to concentrate. Not you."
Anger didn't respond this time, but his fingers tightened slightly on the sports page. She didn't give any sign that meant she was trying to irritate him, but she promised herself a smirk when it was all over.
"So who's going to get the limelight, I wonder?" she said out loud in mock wonder. "The snivelling snail or the top man? Or should I say, emotion?"
That worked. The air around Anger's head bubbled considerably fast as he slammed down his newspaper and stormed over to the telephone. He'd be damned if Fear was getting Riley through this thing and not him.
Disgust watched him go and the smile that had been creeping to spread was finally let loose. Finally, the ape was doing some actual work. Men weren't that hard to understand after all.
"Hello, that is Anger?" came one of the mind workers up the line.
"No, it's the magical unicorn." Anger barked back down. "Now shut up and listen."
It felt wonderful, getting to command people around.
"Find me every angry memory of a maths exam we've ever had!" he shouted. The mind worker held the receiver a considerable distance from his ear. "And be quick about it!"
The mind worker decided to play along. "OK, you want fries with that? Or would you like the special deal where we'll throw in the coke and the toy?" he joked. There was no fear of death by incineration when you were sixteen miles away from the furnace.
Anger didn't know whether to laugh or rage.
He picked rage.
"JUST GET THE MEMORIES, WILL YOU? DO IT AS FAST AS POSSIBLE AND MAYBE I WON'T SNAP YOUR SPINE!"
Silence for a few seconds. "Hello?"
The mind worker sounded rather irritated himself. "Yes, yes, I'm thinking, damnit. Someone has to."
Anger closed his eyes and counted to five, which was the number of bones he wanted to break at the minute. "You know what? Just get me any memories related to any exam we've ever taken. That'll get her determined, but not too overconfident."
"Um…"
"Yes, what now?"
"Sorry for asking boss, but wouldn't the whole anger part of the memory cause mental rage and may even cause her to make mistakes in brief seconds of hate at the whole thing? I know you want her to be ready and all, but shouting in the middle of complete silence isn't generally looked upon in exams as a good thing. Or am I just talking complete nonsense?"
Anger let the phone drop with a clatter.
Oh, hell. He hadn't thought of that.
When he spoke it again, it was with slight defeat. "Get me the memory changer. That thing that once switched all the happy memories to faded and blue ones. It's somewhere in the subconscious. Release it and bring it here."
"May I ask why it's in the subconscious?"
"No, you may not. But all I know is that it's there. I think I might have yelled at it through the speakers a few times. Follow its scent. Wrap it chains. Google it if you want to, just get me the damn thing!"
This particular silence was deafening.
"Sure, why not?"
"Here we are sir."
Anger was alone in headquarters at the moment. Good thing too, because otherwise everyone would have been staring at him as if he was mad. And not in the good way.
"Are you sure this is the memory changer?" he managed to say, too dumbfounded too even insult the mind worker delivering it.
"Yup."
"The memory changer?"
"Pretty sure."
"The same one that turned our memories –"
"Faded and grey, yes. It's evil. It's haunting. It cost us several ropes, a few wheels to drag it on and about the lives of sixty co-workers when trying to catch it."
"It's a bucket." Anger said flatly.
"Well…yes. But it's an evil bucket."
Anger sighed. "And why," he growled, forcing himself to keep his cool, "is the thing a six-foot cleaning supply?"
The mind worker shrugged. "We named him Bobby."
Bobby the evil bucket didn't exactly have that dark a feel to it, so Anger was sort of glad it didn't have feelings. He would have died from the ridicule ages ago in that thing's position.
"And how do I use it? Is there an ON switch or something, or…"
The mind worker should have stayed, because it may have been entertaining to watch the guy struggle. He just shrugged again and said "None of my business."
He walked away in such a self-satisfied manner he was amazed that he'd managed to leave the place with both his legs still intact.
Anger managed to get the thing awake after about four or five hours, give or take. Disgust and Fear had returned during all of this, so he had to bear with their excruciating arrogance and tedious grins of him fixing a bucket for half the time, too. But even he needed a good excuse to murder his fellow comrades, so the chainsaw and sledgehammer stayed in his wardrobe where they belonged. I don't know how he knew when it was fixed. All he really did was smash it with a wrench. Maybe it was the big booming voice it gave out.
Yeah. Yeah, it was probably the voice.
"I AM THE MEMORY CHANGER." It boomed, searing grey light spilling out everywhere like you'd just wandered into emo heaven. "I WILL CHANGE THE EMOTION OF ANY THREE EMOTIONS FOR YOU, O CREATOR! I AM INDEED A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH, SO WATCH OUT WHEN THOSE THREE OR UP! OTHERWISE –"
"OK, I get it." Said Anger. "Doom and despair, etcetera, etcetera. Just make these orbs happy, will you?"
"OH COME ON." Sulked the voice. "I'D JUST GOTTEN TO THE REALLY COOL PART. I'VE BEEN PLANNING THAT SPEECH FOR YEARS." It grumbled about his interrupted monologue for a few moments before Anger persuaded (quote threatened) him to turn his selected red orbs to more joyous memories. He didn't like Joy herself and he certainly didn't like mystical objects that were meant to live in store cupboards, but it was, of course, for Riley.
"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT. BUT I MUST WARN YOU, I WILL SOON UNLEASH TOTAL HAVOC –"then he caught Anger's look and said "NEVER MIND. CONVERTING MEMORIES…"
It was just like that evil wizard off that really boring movie Riley once watched. But the difference was you could turn the movie off. Turning off the bucket did not seem to be an option.
The memories in Anger's hands started shaking violently, and the entire colour spectrum suddenly seem to flash at him before settling on the rick, milky gold. Then they stopped. Things had actually worked out nicely for once.
"THERE." Muttered the voice. "SATISFIED?"
"Good." Anger replied, blinking a few times to make sure the colours hadn't burned any of his eyes. "Now, where should I put these for the test." He thought out loud.
"DON'T LOOK AT ME. I GREW UP WITH A MOP FOR A SISTER AND A SHELF FOR A MOTHER. WHAT DO YOU THINK I KNOW ABOUT HEADQUARTERS?"
True. True. Thought Anger.
"NOW THEN!" the voice yelled, getting, if possible, even louder. "I'M GOING TO GO OUT THERE AND KILL A FEW PEOPLE. SAVE THE EMOTIONS FOR ME TO KILL TOO, WILL YOU?"
It didn't speak after that, but Anger could faintly hear confused and stressed grunting sounds emanating from behind the metallic rim. It was like someone making out with a courgette. Finally, it spoke again.
"I APPEAR TO BE STUCK."
Anger put down the orbs in front of the monitor and refused to deny himself this little bit of fun. "Yes. Yes, you are."
"WHY IS THIS, PUNY BRICK MAN?"
He was about to smash its cream paintwork in for calling him that, but he decided against it.
"That's because you're a bucket. A disgustingly decorated one, at that."
"OH YEAH. I DON'T HAVE ANY LEGS, DO I?"
"No, you really don't."
"I DID NOT THINK THIS ONE THROUGH."
"No. No, you really didn't."
"CRAP."
"Crap."
"UH…LITTLE HELP?"
"Sure."
"WHERE EXACTLY ARE YOU DRAGGING ME?" it shouted half an hour later.
"Somewhere very large and dark." Said Anger from behind him. "You'll see."
"SOUNDS DELIGHTFUL." Said the bucket without a hint of sarcasm in its voice. "WHAT DO YOU CALL IT?"
"Well, we people call it the memory dump."
"OH, GOOD." Silence for ten seconds while the name was processed. "HANG ON – WHAT?!"
"Bon voyage!" was the only reply as he was sent smashing through the window and into the abyss below. A single vowel which seemed to go on forever followed him down, and if the bucket had a face, it would have been sitting with its mouth drawn out in an endless scream. Anger would have normally scolded himself – both Riley and him hated using foreign languages, even the simplest phrases. But hey, killing a giant sanitation device never exactly happens every day.
When Joy got back, she noticed Anger had already dispersed his own select memories at the base of the console, ready for use. Nobody had commented on the loud voice or the smashed glass except calling a repair team. We really should have cleaned up the mess called that called themselves "the leaders", now I look back, but we didn't really know the meaning of free will back then, for whatever reason. Perhaps things were just normally very loud in headquarters.
So there we are, Anger. I've dared to mention your name, and I'd better lock the doors. Perhaps those new security lasers I bought yesterday would give me a head start in the chase if you tried to murder me in the shower. And what's the moral of the story? I don't really know this time. We've had don't commit suicide and don't stalk girls instead of simply talking to them. Hey, how about don't trust walking volcanoes or don't reawaken evil entities, even if they are just a bucket. No – I've got it. Don't smash headquarters windows. May seem obvious to you, but it cost us hell to pay.
Now then, let's think…we've got two of emotions left to go through. Both female. Both as painful to learn about as the other. You know what? Let's go with Disgust next. Have your sanitation spray ready – no germs will be contaminating her page.