"Aaargh, not that noise again!"…

The skin stretched slightly as his chest rose. Lungs filled involuntarily as life-giving oxygen flooded through slightly smothered airways. Then the recycled carbon dioxide flew back, following the same route as before, making his nostrils flare on its exit. The gas continued, forcing its way over the pillow’s surface.

The alarm clock jolted Hugh with a start. He wasn’t sure if he should wipe his eyes or hit the clock. The vibrations drove into his skull like a sledgehammer and were enough to make up his mind for him. He hit the clock.

"We’re back, thank God for that. I thought we were done for that time."

"Oh, shut up, you damn weasel. Always bitching, can’t you do anything else?" Anger didn’t care much for Worry.

"It’s my job to be concerned about such things," Worry retorted. "Besides, if I didn’t, we’d get into all sorts of trouble".

"Trouble? Where? Where is it?" Mischief came charging in from the surrounding mist. As he reached them, the pointed cap that adorned his sharp-tongued head went spinning to the floor. He bent to pick it up, pausing as he did so to stroke the pixie-like velvet shoes that gave such a spring to his step.

"Not you as well," Anger was getting quickly agitated. "Can’t a subconscious feeling get any privacy around here?"

"Well, if you ask me… not that anyone ever does, no. No-one ever asks me anything, it’s just ‘get this, fetch that, do the washing up, clear the conscious, cook the dinner, scrub, clean, dust the cloud, walk the dog, mow the lawn…"

Mischief stared at Self-Loathing with a quizzical look. "I never knew we had a dog," he jested. Anger wasn’t so subtle. "Shut your trap, you stupid waste of thought processes. She’s always the bloody same. Am I the only one who gets peeved off with it?"

Worry tapped him on the shoulder and Anger spun around and glared daggers at the little bald fellow.

"Actually, yes, you are the only one, but I get a bit stressed by it if that makes you feel any better."

"No it bloody doesn’t!"

"Watch the language, please, there are ladies present."

"Worry, what are you on about now?" Anger looked on as Worry pointed out the slow-moving figure that approached the group. Her silken hair reached halfway down the thin, white cotton dress that clung to her otherwise naked body. She walked without moving her feet, and a carpet of rose petals appeared beneath her every step.

"Look out Anger," cried Mischief, "It’s the wife!"

Love strode up to her husband. She stared into his eyes, then without breaking eye contact, slapped him hard across the face. "How dare you talk to Self-Loathing like that, you ungrateful brute!"

"Why should I be grateful to her?"

"Because it’s mainly her that curbs your outward aggression, that’s why. You’d get us all locked up if you had your way, and you know what would happen then. Boredom would be let out, and I know how much you hate him."

Self-Loathing stared down at the petals that fluttered to the ground every time Love made a movement. "I suppose you expect me to clear that up."

Worry looked at the flowers and shook his head disapprovingly. "We’ll all go down with hay fever, I know we will."

"Oh, stop whimpering." Love didn’t care much for him either. Anger mocked her by trying to look disapproving.

"Well," said Love, "partners have to have something in common." She smiled broadly and reached out to hug her man. Instantly he was covered head to foot in pink blooms.

"I think we’ve finally found you a look." Mischief couldn’t resist the joke and his amusement turned to outright laughter as Anger sneezed violently.

All at once, the billowing clouds that surrounded them started to thin, and a monumental clanging sound began to tear at their eardrums. Worry was the only one to pass comment.

"Aaargh, not that noise again!"…

David James