Fiction

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Calm and warm, there is peace around me. The consistent thumping of a muffled drum fills my head. I never knew of such a place as this. Life is usually fast, fleeting, but here I can think about times past and hopes to come. I like it here, but how did I get here? I try, but I can’t remember the way. That must be rectified. I must remember how it is that I found this place of solitude, so that I can find my way ba--
“James.”
A voice! What voice is that?
“Hello? I can’t hear myself talk. Why can’t I hear myself? Oh, God what is wrong with me?”
“Calm yourself, James. I hear you perfectly well.”
“Why is it that I don’t hear my voice?”
“Your voice is there, James. Don’t alarm yourself any further.”
“Who are you? What has happened to me?”
“Where do you go from here, James?”
“My father was the only person who ever called me James. You can call me Jimmy. My friends call me Jimmy.”
“Where do you go from here, James?”
What kind of a question is that? I’m suddenly not feeling very comfortable anymore. I think I want to go home now.
“Where I go from here is entirely my business. I would like to go home now. Am I free to go?”
“Tell me about being free, James. Tell me what that means to you.”
“It means I want to go, and I should be able to. A man is given free will on this earth, and that will can only be inhibited by other men.”
Silence now and I can barely think for my anger that’s growing. The muffled beat of the drum has quickened, and the mood has changed.
“You speak as if nothing controls what you do.”
“That’s right! Nothing does control what I do. This life consists of decisions made and actions carried out. Actions and reactions. What I plan to do is limited only by my desire to do it.”
“Tell me then, James, what does it mean to pray?”
“Prayer is what people do for reassurance. No one wants to be alone in this world. If they think someone or something is listening to their pleas for help and strength, it takes some of the burden off themselves. It’s basic psychology, really. If you believe strongly enough that someone is helping you, then you actually feel as if you are being helped.”
“You speak as if it is a tool.”
“It is a tool. I never believed in it much myself. I’ve never had to. Problems come along for me as they do for everyone, but I handle them. I control the obstacles in my life. I am successful.”
The drumming is becoming unbearably loud. Its pace so fast it almost hums.
“Time is short, James. Pray now for help and for strength that which you believe you control with your own mind, with the free will that you believe you give to yourself.”
“I told you, there is no need for prayer. It is merely a tool utilized by the weak. My free will is my own, along with my fate.”
Pain now, and light. The drumming has ceased its tranquil rhythm all together. It is now the sound of an alarm. I can almost hear people talking.
“Will you not pray, James?”
“Enough of this, enough! It hurts I feel cold. Am I leaving, now? I want to go home! I control what I do! I control who I am! What are you doing? Don’t press your finger against my lips! Let me speak! Am I not free to speak?”
“Hush, child. I give you your mark, the philtrum of proof of your conversation with me. It shows that you were given a chance.”
Peace for an instant and now pain again. I feel as if I’m being pulled away, as if my presence is no longer aloud in this beautiful place.
“I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong? Am I wrong?”
Silence.
“I’m sorry. Please, I can pray. I will pray, God.”
“I truly hope you will, James. I am not the Father, only his representative. His voice would be too much for your ears, but He will speak to you in other ways. I hope you will pray. I, myself will pray that you do. Don’t think that your intellect can grasp the things that it surely cannot. Go now. Live life once again. Perhaps this time it will be done in His image.”
The air is freezing cold and the world sinfully bright. The gloved hands grab my shoulders and pull me into the world. The drumming stops and the screaming begins. The memory of the voice quickly fades.

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