The lighting is strange in his room: Wrong, somehow. Filled with undefined yellows and deep, burnt - black shadows, like firelight, but somehow more foul, unnatural. James is used to this. This no longer disturbs him.

What disturbs him is the strange and disjointed longing, like loneliness or sorrow but without the direction: A hollow ring chiming down the long, empty spaces. He sits, almost meditating, alone with the yellow - black light, listening to the dim echoes in the hollow parts of him, wondering what aspect of himself departed, leaving gaping, sucking wounds and a certain sickness.

He cannot find it.

"I need an oracle," he says, standing. The room, in its silence, seems to concur. The quiet is an affirmation, he thinks. The very walls seem to ooze a muffled satisfaction.

Yes, they say, an oracle, but James ignores the walls as he always does. They are yes-men, and know little of the real world. The door, on the other hand, knows things. He asks it for an opinion, but the door keeps to itself.

Undaunted, James sets out.

The street is full of people: sweating, pig-like people of little intelligence all abrim with ill intent and the predatory urge. Once, this scared James, but the horror has faded; he spends much time around them.

God is on the street, and James says hello, hoping to enlist some aid.

James says, "Have you seen a piece of me around? It's about . . . " He tries to use his hands to illustrate a certain size, "That big."

But God's handing out copies of His new book. They sell them at Barnes and Noble, but it's cheaper if you get a gratis copy from the author Himself. He just gives them away. He must have truckloads of them. James is unfamiliar with it.

"Is it fiction?" James asks, but God seems unsure. James is forced to move the conversation along. "Is it an oracle?" he asks, but God only offers James His book again. Disgusted, James stalks away.

It's hard for James to stay angry at God. He's single-minded, but He's generally a good guy. It's not His fault. His book's not selling too well, and hardly anyone believes in Him anymore, but that's no reason to dislike Him.

Nobody believed in James for a long time, but he's still here. It's hard to not go POOF! And be gone forever, but James has weathered it, and now he's more real than everyone else. He thinks of going back to God and telling Him "Keep at it, Kid! You'll make it!" but he doesn't think He'd appreciate it.

James continues walking and sees the devil, lying lazily on a rock amongst the Black Ones. The Black Ones are hideous creatures of metal rings, hooks, and studs, odd, pale faces recessed into the cage. James isn't afraid of them. He doesn't know of anyone under the age of 60 who regards them with anything more than pity (other than the crowd God hangs out with, and their hate is mandatory, without any passion).

He circumvents the Black Ones and approaches the Devil. He tips an imaginary hat to Old Nick and attempts an off-handed smile, but what reaches his lips is rather labored.

Nick smiles and shooes the Black Ones away.

Continued on the Next Page!

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