James. E. -Chapter 2.2-

For that single moment he forgot the mute policeman, his own purpose of being (there was none anyway), or the fact that entering this junkyard seemed to be forbidden. He raced after these sweet, innocent voices of children singing in chorus on a tongue previously unheard by men. Soon enough he was way past the sign, two massive piles of junk towered above him; looking back, the mute policeman looked dwarfed and less menacing. There was a small mystery however, which confused him a great deal, for around him there was nothing but a wasteland. The source of sound, if he was not hallucinating, should have been nearby as it was quite clear, but there was not a soul in his view, yet alone singing children. Exactly in this moment of self-doubt, a palm sized sphere of ethereal color flew by.

The moment when it was closest to him, James E. caught the sounds buried within the singing which were previously hidden to his perception. The singing was mixed in with faint sounds of children playing, laughing and crying. The latter ones were much more earthy and familiar to him as he had never been to a church to truly appreciate the chorus. But what made him run after the sphere in such a mania was a warning from a heavenly voice. "It is lost."

He chased after it so wildly as if his own life was at stake. The ground being uneven and rugged presented a great barricade as it often made him stumble and even fall, but he would always get up and run after the sphere no matter what.

The sphere guided him towards a small, green and, in some parts, rocky valley which stood out as very distinctive and contrasting with the whole junkyard. In the middle of it stood a feeble tangerine tree on a branch of which hung a very familiar to James E. medallion with an enchanting songbird carved in its centre. At the sight of such a soft and comfortable area James E. gave out a sigh of relief for a place so welcoming was last thing he expected to see. At the bottom of a tree there stood a three wheel bicycle and a rusty pitchfork lying on the ground, half covered in withered but still colorful tangerine leaves. No sound, other than the gentle song of children, which was undoubtedly coming from the sphere, was made.

The sphere started changing colors; it went from complex, indescribable by human tongue celestial hues to earthy, autumn colors. Next, it completely changed the sound, instead of a choir it made only the sound of children playing in an alley. Then, it buried itself within these leaves as well, clearly pushing James E. to finally take it.

He moved towards the sphere with caution not to startle it. Grass absorbed the noise of his footsteps, and soft wind took care of his exhausted breathing, his eyes fixed on the sphere twisting beneath the leaves. As I have mentioned the valley was not all greenery, for behind the tree, which stood in the middle, the surface was rocky; a sudden shift amid the hefty boulders of that area completely paralyzed James E. in one place.

He did not, at all, anticipate seeing a moving, living thing nearby. Therefore, terrified, he froze motionless in one spot and aimed his attention at the slowly revealing figure. It rose from behind the boulders, an abnormally pale, worm like, naked human. It was unnaturally tall, so much so that, by the looks of it, it could not stand straightened; instead it stood bent, its slender hands rubbing the rocky surface below. Then, as it suddenly turned its head towards James E., he retreated in panic, for it had no face.

It stretched out its arms and staggering, ran towards the sphere as if a puppet in hands of an incompetent puppeteer. It had no eyes, no mouth, no nose, no hair, no wrinkles, no furrows, no expressions, only an egg like, smooth, empty surface. It went reeling towards the sphere, which, still hid peacefully under the leaves, as terror-stricken James E., stood wholeheartedly and bodily stunned.

He could not, in spite of his desire, force his body to approach the sphere, slowly losing all determination of reaching it, horrifying thoughts regarding this featureless man overwhelmed his mind. What were its intentions, what would it do to him, or where might have it lost its face. His Guesses ranged from wild and exciting to downright grotesque, possibilities were endless, but not one explanation. He knew, without doubts, that getting that sphere was vital and that he would suffer if he did not. He knew he could not let it go; it contained the key to a forgotten room within him, contents of which he could faintly sense but never recall; but at the same time, the misshapen monster, that appears to have lost its interest in the sphere and rushed towards James E. as if possessed, tore his mind apart. What good would be recovering lost memory if he'd died?

With eyes closed he ran as far from that place as in his power. Falling down in the pile of junk; his hand unintentionally grabbed a piece, and it was no junk; it was a wooden doll. Most of the junk, in fact, were half-ruined, decayed and old toys; fluffy animals, plastic toy soldiers, dolls, metal cars... It all made him want to leave the place even more.

He ran to the place from which he entered, closing his eyes once again, trying not to look back. He bumped into a big belly and fell on his back. He shook himself and looked up; it was the mute policeman, his face as shadowed as before.

He stood at the steel door, holding out his hand, as if demanding something for his passage. James E. stared at him lying on the ground; he felt small, powerless and surrendered, not even daring to think of a trick to escape. The enormousness of the policeman devastated him from within. Then he remembered, he remembered the pouch he found in his pocket, the pouch filled with coins!

He carefully handled it to the policeman, who appeared quite pleased and moved. Thus, paying a price in an exchange of his own freedom, he finally managed to quit that place. He was quite puzzled on what to call the mute policeman; he thought of various variants like ‘The Enforcer’, ‘The Exchanger’, ‘The Trapper’, but settled on ‘The One Who Demands.’

There he was, back on the heavily populated main street, walking, blended in with the masses of grey, black and white, they did not look real, in fact they looked, so strange! And this time, James E. was one of them. He walked on, observing the world without its joyous colors, and then he realized he had lost his face.