The Atheist

"No, I don't believe in God." stated Joshua to his companion. They were walking down a dark alley, and it was late at night. His friend, in a heavily slurred jumble, countered with another question.

"No, I don't believe in him, either." he replied.

"But what about The Devil?" was the drowsy response. This question took a second longer for Josh, but he came to the same conclusion.

"No." he said, although it seemed as if he were simply sounding his response against his friend to gauge its validity within his own mind. He didn't think much about God, but The Devil was something he had wondered about. Why did he watch himself hurt people so many times in his mind? Why did he want to hurt people who couldn't even afford to buy food, let alone give him their money? He regarded these thoughts as very troubling, but, unmoved in his beliefs, decided that they must come from some dark recess of his mind.

Matthew was starting to get agitated. He kicked in a trashcan and almost dropped his bottle of tequila. Joshua hadn't felt like partying, he was too tired after working at the construction site where he had managed to get a token job. Debris collection. He was really moving up in the world. Josh decided that it would be best to settle in for the night; Matthew would only be trouble if they kept walking.

They came to an old restaurant that had been closed for months. All the windows were surrounded by black soot from a fire. Staring for a moment, Joshua decided to sleep inside the derelict structure. It looked sturdy enough.

The boards over the back door were easily pulled away. Matthew stumbled aimlessly about while Joshua brandished his cigarette lighter and prepared to go in. Josh only hoped that there wasn't anyone already occupying the restaurant's shell; he wasn't ready to put up a fight.

It was very dark inside. The lights from the street barely filtered in through cracks in the boards, and some areas were lit through holes in the roof. Josh waited. The tentative silence did not erupt into a fight. Still cautious, he took another step inside. Matthew looked in, providing Josh a chance to drag him in by an arm. It was, despite the glow of the lighter and the illumination cast through the gaps in the boards, too dark to make out any major details. A few heaps that Josh supposed to be rubble, along with larger things-probably tables-were discernable from the murky blackness, but nothing more.

Carefully leading Matthew through the piles of garbage, Josh picked a corner and sat against the wall, encouraging Matthew to do the same. Matthew didn't like that idea. Mumbling something about "getting her phone number," Matthew managed to get up and trip over an overturned table. Josh let him lie where he had fallen. His thoughts slowly began to drift toward his understanding of The Devil.

He imagined a man, not like those cartoonish depictions, a very strong man with a smooth, pleasing face. Did he have long hair? What color were his eyes? Josh imagined possibilities, but decided to forget about the particulars of appearance. What was important was not so much what he looked like as what he sounded like. Voices he had heard were clouding his mind, refusing to let him define the voice he was so sure he could piece together. A mellow baritone? No, that was not like him... Maybe a shrill, harsh rasp? Impossible. This wasn't a voice so common. Joshua began to form the tone: an even, assuring sound, an irresistible whisper, the voice of a radio announcer with a confiding quality so charming that Josh was momentarily enchanted by his own creation.

"I must be getting tired," he said as his eyelids began to gravitate towards one another. Soon he would be asleep. His last thought was that of his imaginary Devil, almost tangible in his wearied mind.

He didn't dream, at least, not as he had hoped he would. His Devil didn't talk to him. The reassuring voice was nowhere to be found. There was nothing at first, but then the grey plain on which he was standing began to fall from under foot. The amorphous floor seemed to be seeping lower, pouring into an incomprehensible funnel. Joshua was left, suspended over a violent whirlpool. A blinding light came over the whole scene. Joshua could feel no heat, yet he was suddenly overcome with a panic-he was about to combust. The fear did not pass, even when he heard the new voice. A thundering noise crackled in his ears as the voice spoke to him in a language he had forgotten he knew. Just as he was about to comprehend the message, just as he prepared to know, the light faded. He was once again hanging over the swirling maelstrom. Without warning, he was pulled down.

It was still dim inside the restaurant when Josh awoke, but he knew it must be morning. Matthew was no longer on the floor. He was out relieving himself somewhere, probably. Wherever he was, he had to be suffering a bad hangover. Josh didn't worry about him. He looked at his surroundings in the shadowy light. The room was a total wreck. Someone had definitely been sleeping there for at least a week.

Newspapers blanketed the floor, along with bottles, cans, and all manner of junk. There were mounds of charred wood and crumbling drywall mixed with tables and a few chairs. Joshua guessed that this would not be a very good place to stay if it rained. Ducking back through the opening in the back entrance, he bid his refuge goodbye.

Matthew was gone. Josh guessed that he was out looking for some food. Knowing Matthew, he probably wouldn't be back soon. Josh would have to go on alone for awhile. Maybe Matthew would turn up in a few weeks. He really wasn't that important, for now. Joshua's stomach was empty-not that this was uncommon-but it was a good idea for him to forage for a sandwich or something before he went back to the construction site to pick up debris.

Scanning the sidewalk, Josh wished he could just find some money. It would make his day to pick up a dollar. He just couldn't find the nerve to beg. Not today. The sky was overcast and there weren't many pedestrians out, anyway.

What would he do for a dollar? He was hungry, penniless; a dollar would change that. He wondered what lengths he would go to, given the chance. Would he rob someone? No, that would just get him arrested, or, worse, he might pick the wrong person: someone with a gun and little regard for his life. Would he give his life? He chided himself for asking that question. He wasn't making sense. His thoughts ran back to his imaginary Devil. Would he sell his soul to his Devil? The convincing man with the disarming grin? Would he do that for a dollar? "Well," he mused, "I don't believe in God or The Devil... heaven or hell..."

At that moment, Joshua noticed a bill in the gutter. Reaching down to pick it up, he formed a smile. It was a five.