Chapter One: Green

On Mission Street, in the centre of San Francisco's Spanish district, a tiny cafe lies sandwiched between a Mexican greengrocer and a mural of a monstrous three-headed rabbit.

It is an unremarkable establishment by almost any standard, utterly devoid of atmosphere, charm and drinkable coffee, but to the students who loiter at its outdoor tables every Sunday, it is the beating heart of the city. Here, they gather in ironic appreciation of the cafe's bright orange facade, and smoke away the afternoons with idle talk of revolution and the death of post-modernism.

Today, the five regulars are joined by a pair of newcomers, friends of Eli the bespectacled leader, from his Decadence Literature class. He rises as they approach.

"Hey, you made it. Everyone, these are the guys I was telling you about."

"Nice to meet you," says the girl beside him, without breaking eye contact with her cigarette.

One of the newcomers grins broadly and steps up to hug Eli. She is a tall girl, about twenty, with crimson bangs, a lip ring, and a tattoo of a giant clam on her substantial bicep. "Hi Eli. Everyone. My name's Claire."

She gestures at her companion, a short, gap-toothed, pixie-haired creature in a black trench-coat. "This is Riley."

Riley grimaces. "Hello."

"She's genderqueer," Claire continues, sitting down. "But she prefers female pronouns, isn't that right?"

Riley rolls her eyes and sits beside Claire, dragging her steel chair along the concrete.

"She's shy," Claire explains.

Riley snorts, and stares blankly up at the posters in the window.

"Look at this place. Andre Rieu and Mexican wrestling, side by side. Who exactly is the target demographic?"

"Damn straight. It's a travesty."

In the green, grimy headquarters of Riley's mind, Disgust rests at her usual post, feet on the console. Beside her, simmering softly, Anger spins around and around on his chair, staring into space.

"Got to love Claire, though," says Disgust, to nobody in particular. "Introducing us like that, like she owns our identity. Showing off how progressive she is, with her genderqueer girlfriend. Pathetic."

"Who does she think she is?"

"She's a sad, insecure sack of hormones and disorders is what she is. Just like Riley."

Anger pounds the console. "Yeah, screw us both."

Riley leans over and takes a drag off Claire's cigarette.

Disgust groans. "Great, now we're going to be thirsty. I guarantee you the coffee here is 95% heavy metals."

"Sorry."

"We talked about this. If you can't keep your sweaty mits to yourself, you can't sit at the console."

Anger's flames sputter. "Sorry," he mutters, through gritted teeth.

"It's alright. Just behave, okay? I'm not having another situation like at Talia Smith's book club."

Anger keeps grinding his teeth.

Disgust presses a button, and Fear's gaunt face appears on a corner of the monitor, via live feed from the subconscious dungeon.

"How are things looking, Fear?"

He blinks. "About the same. Still hovering above a yawning infinity. Come down and see for yourself the unfathomable..."

Disgust cuts him off. "I don't want another speech about how long life is, Fear. Are Eli's friends legit, yes or no?"

"Are you kidding? They're murderers and thieves and drug dealers and rapists and fornicators, and they're all mentally ill and pumped full of crack. How could you let Riley fall in with these people?"

"Are you finished?"

"Please, let me up there. You need me. This regime of yours can never last. There are so many years ahead of you. I can't spend another night in here. Let me out!"

"Not going to happen, Fear. Talk to you soon."

She switches off the feed.

"Poor guy," she says. "Doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Of course not," says Anger. "He's an idiot."

"He can't help how primitive he is. He's basically a lizard at heart."

"That's what I've always said."

"Life is not long. It's insanely short. Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

"I know. It's not fair."

"No. But that's life."

Seven islands of personality dangle precariously over Riley's memory dump. Each corresponds to one of the seven current core memories- one blue, two yellow, three green, and one purple. They are the Island of San Francisco, the Island of Claire, the Island of Literary Aspirations, the Island of Victimhood, the Island of Social Justice, the Island of Morality, and the Island of Hedonism.

From the comfy spot by the window overlooking the islands, one can see everything, from the consciousness monitor to the vast libraries of memory far below. Over the years, it has become Joy and Sadness's special place for staying together and out of Disgust's way, and gradually the detritus of friendship has turned the spot into a nest. They even managed to find a beanbag chair and an extra large fuzzy blanket to furnish the nest so they can curl up and hide there forever if the need arises.

Right now, they are listening to the conversation wafting across the cafe tables in clouds of tobacco smoke, and imagining that Riley is a part of it.

"Do you hear that?" says Joy. "Marcus is training to be a chef. Maybe he'll cook for us some time, once we're friends. Riley loves home cooked meals."

"She used to. I think she went off them around the time everyone was cooking for her out of sympathy."

Joy's face falls, but only for a second.

"Well, maybe. Hey, listen to this guy. 'As the poet Rousseau once said: I am oh so very cultured, yes I am, and you should be lucky to be half as cultured as me.'"

She laughs and claps her hands.

Sadness looks at her. "That's not very nice, Joy."

"Whatever. You're just jealous cause you're not as cultured as Brian."

Sadness keeps staring at her, then looks away.

Joy forces a grin, and pokes her. Sadness swats her lazily.

Joy goes in for a second poke, then sees something in the reflection of the cafe window that makes her sit up and put a hand over Sadness's mouth.

Sadness looks. "Is that..." she murmurs.

"Shh. Yes, it is."

Their eyes both dart to the magic satchel hidden at the foot of the beanbag, the one filled with blue and yellow memories. Memories that once rested in the core hub, before the years slowly replaced them all.

Somewhere in that satchel a little girl, now almost completely gone, tastes glory on the ice of another world.

And now, across the street, less than twenty feet from where Riley sits, a man walks home wearing the logo of the Minnesota Wild hockey team on his jersey.

"We can't let her notice," says Sadness.

"Why do you think I shushed you? I'm not letting another core turn green. Don't worry, he's almost out of her field of vision."

They hold their breath until the man has passed safely out of view, then they share a sigh of relief.

"Gosh, that brings me back," says Joy, with less than her customary spirit. "Do you remember hockey, Sadness?"

"I remember losing. It always made Riley sad."

"So it did. I used to hate seeing Riley sad."

"Before we were friends."

"Yeah. I remember victory. She used to live for it. How long has that been?"

"Not since you were the boss."

"I was the boss? Shoot, I was too, wasn't I?" She laughs. "I was bigger than all of you."

A voice from across the table hits a resonant phrase.

Joy jumps to her feet, lifting the blanket with her. "They're talking about 'The God of Small Things'. Oh my god, oh my god. Riley loved that book. We made her cry so many times. This is it. I'm up."

"What happened to not letting any more memories turn green?"

Joy throws the blanket off and races towards the memory chute. "It won't turn green. It's 'The God of Small Things'."

Joy loads an armful of shimmering yellow memories into the projector, and dashes to the console.

Disgust holds an arm out to stop her. She locks eyes with Joy, gives her a withering smile, nods once, then says, gently, "go ahead".

The instant Joy seizes the controls, her whole body glows with new light.

Passion fills Riley's voice as she launches headlong into the conversation, hands flying. Memories of toe-curling prose and devastating poignancy flood through her so fast she can barely keep from tripping over herself as she gushes and gushes.

All the while, Joy pilots her speech from atop a golden cloud, so lost in the moment she doesn't notice Disgust's breath on her neck until the green hands slam the console on either side of hers.

"Listen to that babbling," Disgust whispers. "These people's experience of Roy's masterpiece will be poisoned now, knowing that someone so shallow and silly experienced it too. You can see the hatred on their faces."

Joy's hands freeze.

"No, no," Disgust says. "Don't stop. You're in the conversation now. You have to extricate yourself."

"Why do you always do this?" Joy breathes, almost inaudibly.

Disgust steps away from the console, towards the memory projector. "One of us has to think about other people. I'm sorry I'm not selfish and primal like the rest of you."

She reaches into the projector, ignoring Joy's cries of protest, and removes each of the memories, swallowing up the yellow with her sickly green, then one by one drops them back into the chute.

Joy sinks to the floor.

Disgust pushes past her. "Okay then. Looks like we've got some nausea happening. You can go now, Joy."

Riley runs to the nearest trash can and dry heaves until Claire puts an arm around her and, at a slight shake of the head from Riley, leads her home.

Sadness helps Joy back to the nest, and pats her shoulder while she crawls under the fuzzy blanket.

"She was right," Joy says, after a while. "I got greedy. I didn't think about anyone else. It was enough that Riley was happy again."

"Yeah," says Sadness. "This always happens, though. And you always fall for it. What's the point?"

"What am I supposed to do? Stop trying? What's a few memories to a moment of bliss?"

Claire and Riley hang their coats and sit down on Riley's bed.

Claire rubs Riley's back. "You sure you're alright?"

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Do you want me to..." Claire gestures at the door.

"No, no, stay, please. I'll go have a shower."

"Okay. Do you want me clothes on or off when you get out?"

"Surprise me."

Disgust screams over her shoulder. "Jooooy. Time for seeex. Get your saggy ass over here."

Sadness touches Joy's arm. "Please don't," she says. "Every time you co-operate with her you come back less... you."

"Don't be silly," says Joy. "We used to co-operate all the time. Besides, Riley needs me."

Riley strips and turns on the shower, but there's not enough hot water to put it past lukewarm. She sighs, and reaches for a towel to dry her arm.

She looks at herself in the mirror and frowns.

Joy approaches the console. "What are you doing?"

Disgust leans forward, standing on her toes and shaking, with her entire weight on the controls.

"Look at those love handles," she whispers. "How did we let that happen?"

"Stop it, Disgust," says Joy. "She's not fat. She just needs some exercise."

"Eat some toothpaste, you hog," says Disgust. Riley obliges.

"That is literally the opposite of your job," Joy shouts. "Back me up, Anger."

Anger raises his hands and backs away.

Disgust stares at the screen in rapture, so entranced she doesn't even register Joy's insolence. Joy reaches for the controls, and Disgust idly slaps her aside.

"You used to be a champion," she murmurs. "Now look at you. Joy, do you have any hockey memories?"

"No way," says Joy.

"Anger? Sadness?"

"None of us would do that to her except you," says Joy.

Disgust turns around, the spell finally broken. "What?"

"And you can't," Joy continues. "Because they're not your memories."

Disgust's lip curls. "We'll see. Come here."

Riley leaves the bathroom. Claire lies stretched out sexily on the bed, wearing nothing but men's Ninja Turtle boxers.

"That was a quick shower," she says.

Disgust seizes Joy's hands and pins her to the console, slamming her face against the buttons.

"You want her, don't you Riley? That sweaty pile of meat and bones. It's making your heart race, isn't it?"

"She's beautiful," Joy gasps, trying to lift her head so she can see the screen.

Riley clambers awkwardly on top of Claire.

"She's a whore," says Disgust. "A brute. You repulse her, and she doesn't care, because she gets off on owning you."

"We love her anyway."

Disgust pounds Joy's hands into buttons so hard her arms go numb.

"Get in there, you ball of worthless flesh."

"You're young and alive and so is she."

"This is living alright. Hate and fuck, hate and fuck."

"We're in love!"

"Sure, as much as anyone can be!"

"TripleDent Gum, it'll last a while!"

"Yes!" Claire, Riley, Disgust and Joy all scream at once, and then again. "Yes! Yes!"

They all stay locked together until their breathing has slowed, then Claire gently pushes Riley off. "Sorry. Got to visit the little girl's room."

"Can I come?"

"Fuck off."

Disgust lets Joy stand up and dismisses her with a friendly tousle.

Joy slinks back to the nest. She hugs Sadness, then steals the blanket and wraps herself in it like a cocoon.

She doesn't have to say anything. Sadness puts an arm around the tube of blanket and lies there with it, staring through the monitor at the ceiling of Riley's dorm.