If there was one emotion Happiness hated more than any other, it was anger. Now that was odd sounding, they know, as sadness is their counterpart and it would make the most sense for them to hate the blue emotion always crying over their computer keyboard.

Anger was just the worst. Their hair was always standing on end high above their red as blood forehead. Their eyes were bloodshot most of the time, a color that did nothing for their — you guessed it — red eyes.

Those who call sadness a terrible dresser had obviously never met anger. Their drab wordrobe consisted of graphic tees from their human’s memories all ripped up from their various tantrums. Today’s was a ‘Star Wars’ shirt that was splattered with bleach stains. He had thrown the bleach bottle and got the chemical all over their skin. Boredom had the worst time cleaning it up.

“Let me push the button! Please please please!” Excitement squeals, floating through the air on their rainbow. Yes, you heard it right, an actual rainbow. The youngest of the emotions brought with them a lot of interesting things. Boredom had thrown away more than a few. “It’s so colorful and nice!”

“It’s my fucking button.” Anger snarls, turning to look up at excitement. Bits of glitter fly into their eyes. The emotion sputters and wipes away the silver sparkle from their cheeks.

Excitement giggles at the silver dots left behind like freckles on Anger’s cheeks.

“It’s not your button!” They draw out the ‘your’ as they dramatically flip to their back, pouring out their lip for added effect. “And I want to press it.”

“Too bad!” Anger pressed the button with renounced energy. The lighting above turns from a dull white to a soft blue. Sadness — who was sitting in the corner — flared to life.

Their human was sad.

Happiness stands at the edge of their platform, watching through their humans eyes as they cry. It was a quiet day for them. Anger had been docile in the face of their human’s mother’s death, though it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Happiness themself was small in the room, and had been since their mother’s funeral. It was to be expected. They were smaller, insignificant against all the other lesser used emotions.

Grief, for example, sat in Happiness’ place at the top of the stairwell. Their throne — normally pink with Happiness — was a dark grey with shadows cast down around it. Along the edges sat spindly monsters.

Depression. That’s what they were. Their hands reach and grasp for any emotion that gets too close. Excitement had gotten too close and scratched their hand.

“She’ll be back to normal soon.” Happiness suddenly quips, looking over her shoulder at the other emotions. They were all worried about their human. Anger normally never stayed on the platform unless they were needed. Boredom tends to hide in a corner and count spots on the wall, yet they are staring at the world just like everyone else.

Their human was never sad, never ever, and to see her crying all the time took a toll on all of them.

“She’ll be okay.” Anger echos in their gruff voice. It was odd to hear them agree with anything Happiness said.

Happiness looks over at the emotion, meeting their eye. For a moment they would get along. For a moment their arguments wouldn’t matter.

Their human needed them.