Ninety-nine Bottled-up Emotions to Buy

You show your identification to the masked, cloaked guards, lifting your head up only long enough for them to confirm entry.

Eyes to the ground, you pass by them into the ‘Emotion Dispensary’; you need to buy an emotion for a specific situation you believe is soon to happen, and your reactions will be critical. It is a special occasion but currently you are almost out of the monthly ration and only have some leftover Confusion from ‘Thought Consignment,’ the mindset store, which is also manned with guards. Though ‘guard’ isn’t quite the right word to describe them.

You walk around the store searching for the owner—you only ever go to him. The employees don’t know what you need like he does.

As you look for him, you glance at the walls of jars and their contents. Each emits an aura, a color almost. You are passing through the Fear aisle. The jars in this section are plain jelly jars except that the lids are black, a darker shade than can be found anywhere else.

It reminds you of a nightmare you had once, but you don’t feel anything as you think about that black, gooey creature that had chased you through your deserted house, broken down the bedroom door, and cornered you. It screeched, and the sound was like the whistle of the guard’s gunshot that you’d heard for the first time that morning.

Why a black, gooey creature? A reality full of scary things is happening around you as it is. Well, you guess that back then you didn’t know that people who say the wrong thing go missing. You’ve always wondered where they go, what happens to them. You never hear any rumors though; no one wants to join them. Mother and Father would tell you to keep such thoughts to yourself. You don’t want them to overhear you. They have eyes and ears everywhere you know. You furrow your brow. But why? Why do they do this? A headache is starting along your temples and up towards your forehead.

You bring your thoughts back to your nightmare and the headache subsides.

You remember waking, sweat-covered, terribly nauseous but emotionless. You went to the next room where Mother opened a black jar and told you to put your hand inside. Your little hand reached and groped for something to pick up, but like all jars it was empty. Though the nauseous feeling was suddenly gone, as was the sweat. Your fingers slowly came to a stop as a prickling started in your pinkie, spreading until it reached your whole body and you screamed. Tears wouldn’t stop until Father held you tight in his arms and said it was alright, it had just been a nightmare.

With Confusion slipping through your veins, you wonder why Mother had given you Fear that night. Why not another emotion? How had she known what emotion your body needed? But then again, you are usually pretty good at telling what emotions you need for yourself.

You ponder what would happen if you bought Fear. But, Fear is not the emotion you need, you think. You walk by all the different aurae, from the sickly brown-yellow of Fright to the all-encompassing black of Terror.

You continue to the next aisle: Worry. The storeowner is not in this aisle either. Though a guard is making his rounds.

Worry is where you spend a lot of your money. It’s one of the emotions they allow you to purchase more of. You don’t know why, but it tends to get used up the most. You guess there is something comfortable about the emotion. It seems to work for a lot of situations. It’s cheaper. But, Worry isn’t what you need, right? Or want. You chew on the inside of your cheek, eyebrows knit together. It wouldn’t do to be worried when what you suspect actually happens.

You walk unnaturally fast through the rectangular glass jars with screw lids, like Fear, so you don’t get tempted to buy some. Or—too late. You cave and put some in your basket. You have to restock anyway.

The next aisle is Love, the prettiest aisle with its rounded perfume bottles, except for the end where Tortured Love, Pitied Love and Unrequited Love sit like broken glass that has lost too many tiny shards to ever be mended. You’ve spent hours looking at the rosy and violet glows through the bars, painting the aisle in the perfect romantic setting, but you’ve never bought any. Was it time to buy some? Who could be worth that? Could you afford one?

But you can’t buy Love anyway, the bars are always locked. You think there is some kind of application process required to access Love. You have a friend who says she knows some people who could get you some. You dart a glance around the aisle. You need to keep thoughts like that to yourself.

You look at the dark magenta of Honeymoon, musing over the idea of having the people your friend knows get it for you. Maybe you should ask for that one. You doubted you’d ever get permission to buy that kind of emotion. You pause; or maybe the pastel pink of Crush. But the magenta looks prettier. Your eyes land on one of the more violet shades: Self Love. You wonder what that means. Ugh, why does Confusion have to be all you have left? It really isn’t helping right now.

You look around pursing your lips, then move to the front of the store to find the storeowner. You stare back at the glow of the aisles making a melodramatic rainbow on the ceiling. Maybe you needed more than one? AND you do need to restock. No, you should figure out what you need for the special situation, then you can think about your rations. Ugh, and you need to go to ‘Thought Consignment’ too. Surely you’ll need a mindset to go along with the emotion(s).

A few more people enter the store. Each has their head down, a younger man has his hands balled in fists, an elderly woman’s lip is quivering, another who has the glazed look of The Nothing Box—the newest and most popular mindset—is being led by another woman by the arm. You haven’t tried The Nothing Box yet, but you think you should, right? It’s supposed to be the best and most peaceful mindset. It also frees you from the need of an emotion while it lasts. That’s what the billboards say.

Your watch says 16:30. Soon the store will be full of customers and the storeowner won’t have time for you. Your clothes start to feel tight and restricting, your hands are getting clammy with sweat. Ugh, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t need to feel any emotions until you got your new supply. Now you’ll have to get Impatience before the stomachache starts.

A nearby cashier looks at you and puts his fingers in his own pocket-edition jar, the deep blue of Worry, sub category Concern. He then asks with a caring look if you are alright and if he could help with anything. You say that you are fine, you just need to talk to the storeowner because you are confused and need help. He picks up the phone behind him and makes a call. The storeowner will be here shortly, he says. You thank him, wringing your hands, trying to stop the sweating. There is no need for Impatience right now.

But it still won’t go away. It never does, until you have used the jar of emotion that your body demands.

The storeowner arrives. You can just barely hear something, and subtly look around confused. But the sound stops and the storeowner asks how he can help. You tell him about the upcoming dinner, and he nods his head with no sign of clamminess or sweating: a master of controlling the need for emotions and mindsets. You wonder, like every time you come, how he is so good at it.

He walks you back into the glow. First, you pick up Impatience and explain that you need to use some now before paying. He understands.

You place the tip of a finger in the jar and relax as your hands start to dry. Your fingers ball into fists and you grit your teeth as Impatience courses through your blood. You turn to the storeowner, who is facing away from you, intending to spit out a complaint, but you stop. You don’t know his name. Why have you never looked at his name tag? Or maybe you have and you just never remembered. Or maybe he doesn’t wear a name tag. You bite the insides of your cheeks, thinking that he probably doesn’t deserve a complaint anyway, but you aren’t sure.

Your mind begins to wander from the issue, though Impatience is the only thing filling it. You tilt your head. Did you just buy Impatience from an ‘Emotion Dispensary’? Isn’t it more of a mindset? Is it both? You’re so confused.

You hear the sound again. What is that and why won’t it stop? And did you accidentally pick up Frustration? Then, you pick up a pattern in the sound. A tune. The storeowner is humming Ninety-nine Bottles of Pop on the Wall. Or was it beer? Someone told you once that beer was the original lyric to the song, but the TV ad says it’s pop. You’ve heard of beer though. Some kind of liquid they drink.

He continues to hum as he weaves you through the aisles. You notice the sound stops again when a guard walks by. You start wondering why he would need to be quiet. Clearly he must be using one of the Happy emotions. But then why would he be worried—

You pause. He isn’t showing any signs of using Worry and his hands have not gone into his pockets where he might have jars. That headache starts spreading upwards again. You force your mind away as fast as you can and decide to refocus on your upcoming situation.

The storeowner must be to seventy bottles of pop—beer by now. You fold your arms and continue to follow. You are gritting your teeth, unwilling to be content until you have all the emotions you need. And unwilling to think about—No. Stop. Upcoming special situation. Can you find your emotions any slower?

Then, Impatience takes a turn in your brain and you are now impatient with yourself for not being able to control your need for emotions and mindsets. Mother always says the art of mastering the need is the “mission” of all creatures. Why does that have to be the mission? Why is there a mission? And who are ‘all creatures’? Does it include them? Do they need emotions and mindsets?

And then there’s the storeowner who seems…different today.

How do you do it? you ask the storeowner. Do what? he replies. He looks at you blankly and you tighten your knuckles to keep the Impatience out of your voice. How do you control the need for emotion? you ask. Once again he looks at you blankly and starts humming his fifty last bottles away.

You watch as he keeps walking. In those eyes, there’s no need for Curiosity or Satisfaction, or, or, or… He looks unaffected by any lack of emotion or mindset. What kind of creature is he? Why can’t you be like that, instead of depending and spending so much on jars and boxes? Could he be taking The Nothing Box? The billboards say no need for emotion, but clearly he is still thinking something. Or maybe not?

Then you see him stick his hand in his pocket. You were right, there has to be a pocket edition in there that he’s been using and you just didn’t pay enough attention. But which emotion is it? You want to get a closer look so you speed up your pace slightly. You try to keep an eye on that pocket without making it obvious.

He stops in two different aisles and explains to your confused brain why you need these emotions while your Impatience grows until you finally place the jars in your basket still unsure exactly why they are best suited for your special situation. But you remind yourself the storeowner has always been right in the past.

When you look up from the basket, the storeowner is looking at you with a strange expression. Was it Worry? Curiosity? Determination? Surely it couldn’t be all three. That is impossible.

You start to ask him why he’s acting strangely but he cuts you off with a grunt and near imperceptible shake of his head.

He glances briefly around the aisle and above where you didn’t realize a security camera hovers. He turns to pick up another jar and you notice one of his hands slips inside the pocket of his apron. The one you’ve been watching. He tells you how useful the jar is, holding it out for you to take. As you grab it, you feel something slide down your coat sleeve. He thanks you for shopping and walks toward the front of the store.

You put your hand in your pocket and the object falls in. You want to pull it out, but something tells you not to. Not in here. You head for the bathroom.

Once inside a stall, you pull out an opaque, glass, oval container with a removeable lid. You’ve never seen this kind of container before, it doesn’t look like an emotion jar or mindset box. You open it.

Empty.

Why would the storeowner give you an empty box? Why did he give you anything? Why don’t you know his name? The Impatience is building and you wrap your fingers around the container to throw it at the wall. But you notice a wisp in the air around the opening. There is something inside. A colorless aura.

You feel the beginnings of that blasted headache again and stifle the need for Surprise as you realize the headache is not the typical need for a specific mindset, but an idea forming. How is this possible? Aren’t those in the most expensive end of ‘Thought Consignment’? You’re pretty sure you’ve even heard there is a restricted section of those which is heavily guarded. The headache is like needles piercing your skull. You need to breathe. You need to stop thinking, but you want to know what your idea is. What this container is.

The store aisles look like a rainbow. Colors come from a single light beam. That rainbow is separated emotions. You think your brain might burst. You collapse on the ground and open the lid of the toilet to puke. When did your need for Excitement start? The churning pain in your middle competes with the stinging and throbbing in your head.

You drag a slippery, shaking fingertip to the opening of the container and test your idea. The pain recedes like a wave pulling back into the ocean, leaving your muscles relaxed but exhausted, and you feel a strange relief. It warms your tired body. You like this feeling. You like it more than Worry.

You stare at the container through a sheen of tears. All the emotions in one. But this must cost a fortune. Why did the storeowner give it to you?

Your breath catches in your throat. Not only is your stomach pain gone, so is the headache. How is this possible? The tears flow freely now. Free.

But you realize you can’t stay in the bathroom forever, and you can’t go out there teary-eyed with no Sadness or Relief in your basket. You wipe away the tears and open the stall door carefully. No one is there so you splash your face with water and wait for the redness to subside.

You take a deep breath, container hidden in your pocket, and step back into the store. The relief and lightness you felt previously is replaced by worry and terror as you spot a guard. You put your head down, hoping he did not see your expression.

How does the storeowner do it, walking among them every day, knowing he was taking an illegal emotion—emotions? Emotions and mindsets?—possessing a freedom that could so easily give him away? You begin humming the tune to Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.

As you near the front of the store, you spot the storeowner. You must talk to him. But not right now. That wouldn’t make sense, the guards would be suspicious. You quiet your humming as you near the growing crowd. Your hands are sweating again and your stomach feels hollow, but you can tell it’s different this time. You don’t feel a need. The fear of being found out is the only thing that counters your hope and excitement. You suppress the desire to hum louder.

Entering the closest line to the storeowner that you dare, you finally search his apron for the name you should have known years ago.

You just make out part of it before a half dozen guards enter the store, followed by one of them. You’ve never seen one before. He or she is cloaked, like the guards, except the cloak seems to shine a different color as the creature walks, the hood is too deep to see a face. As far as you can tell, it looks like anyone else.

At the command of the guards, everyone gets on their knees, noses to the floor. You hear the creature's heels click across the floor, passed you, in the direction of the storeowner. You risk a glance up. The storeowner is hauled to his feet and taken towards the back of the store.

You catch a glimpse under the cloaked figure’s hood and see nothing.

You touch your nose back to the floor, confused. Surely you saw wrong. But what did they want with the storeowner?

The guards usher everyone to their feet again and out of the store, setting up a sign that says ‘Closed for renovations’ with directions to the next ‘Emotion Dispensary’. You don’t know what’s going on, but you wrap your fingers around the container in your pocket, humming your new favorite tune and turn towards home, knowing you now have the ability to figure it out.