THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE?

For 32 year old James Devon, it was Starcraft.

Sure it sounds silly to most people. A simple computer game can't be worshipped. Only a sick individual could find solace in something so archaic and barbaric.

But for James, it was the truth. After a hard day of working with a boss that constantly berated him for his incompetence, fighting the traffic on Interstate 70 to make the 48 mile commute back from St. Louis, and coming home to a sink full of food-encrusted dishes, a laundry basket full of smelly clothes, and an answering machine with three messages from an angry ex-wife about late child support, Starcraft was what he turned to.

This Tuesday was no different. In fact, it was worse because there were still three more days left in the work week.

James pulled his beat up Buick into the drive and the brakes squeaked as he came to a stop. He stepped out of the car, stopped, and glared at the front bumper. A fresh new dent showed where the SUV on the highway had tried to cut him off a bit too closely. He had strongly denied the accusation of the smartly dressed driver who claimed that James had accelerated when he had tried to pass. After a heated exchange, the suit had ended up saying, "Fuck you redneck," and leaving the scene.

James clenched his fist now thinking about it. "If I had moved a bit quicker," he thought, "I could have stained that suit red with a couple of good shots to the face." The knot in his stomach tightened as he headed for the house.

He walked through the kitchen and ignored the red flashing light on his answering machine that indicated he had two new messages and headed straight for the den.

The den was his sanctuary. The walls were decorated with famous Starcraft heroes and villains, build orders for the three races, and printouts from screenshots of some of his more exciting victories.

There was only one window in the den and a dark, green shade was always pulled down. A noisy air conditioning unit rattled from its perch on the window sill providing coolness to an otherwise stuffy room.

James entered the den and shut the door behind him. He stood still for a moment and let his eyes adjust to the sudden dimness that engulfed the room. He then side-stepped the half-eaten can of fruit cocktail that still sat on the floor from yesterday's attempt at a snack between games and headed over to the desk.

A statuette of Kerrigan stood on the desk next to his monitor. Around the statuette stood four scented candles. He pulled a match out of the top drawer and lit the four candles. As the sweet smell hit his nose, he ran his hands down Kerrigan's front, over her well defined breasts and whispered, "We are one." Then he sat down in his chair and began the process of booting up his computer.

Two hours later, James' 3 control groups of cracklings and 2 control groups of mutalisks finished off another protoss expansion, causing the frustrated toss player to type, "gg" and leave.

As the victory prompt appeared on his screen, he lifted his hands from his mouse and keyboard and put them together in a prayer like gesture. Then he turned his swivel chair toward Kerrigan. The candles were starting to burn low and the wax was dripping down onto the wooden desktop.

"I am victorious because of your presence," he whispered intensely, "I praise your name." Then he pulled his hands apart, and banged his head on the wooden desktop three consecutive times.

Kerrigan's statue rattled like she always did, but she didn't fall... she never fell.

He was humming in a low tone and preparing for his next battle when the doorbell broke through his trance and snapped him abruptly back to reality.

He typed /time in the chat room.

Battle.Net Time: 17:32:46
Your Local Time: 19:32:46

He pulled the door open and two men stood there wearing dark suits and glasses. They both held large black books under their arms.

At first, James thought that the terran high command had finally come for him. All the battles where his Zerg troops had crushed his evil terran opponents came back in a flash.

He tensed himself, preparing for a fight and said, "You can try to take me in, but Kerrigan is my savior and she will not allow you to hold me for long."

The men looked at each other with confused expressions on their faces. Obviously, they were taken back by the large man who stood in a defensive stance framed by the doorway of his home.

"I assure you sir, we mean you no ill will. We have come to bring the truth to your neighborhood and to the world."

Normally the man in the dark suit would say this phrase with a loud, booming voice, brimming with the confidence that he was leading others to the right path. But the strange man, with the strange greeting threw him off his routine and his voice wavered as he gave James his patented line.

However, when James heard the words of the dark suits, he relaxed, realizing they were just men from another religon trying to convert him to their way of thinking.

Realizing the challenge that this could mean, he invited the evangelists into his home.

The men followed James into the living room where they were again caught off guard by a statue of a strange looking woman with pale skin and matted hair standing over in the corner. The more observant of the two men also noticed that the purple throw rug that spread across the center of the living room was of a strange substance that seemed to be reluctant to let go of his spit shined black shoes.

James motioned for them to sit down on the couch and they did so with only the smallest hesitation as they saw the remnants of the Coke spill from 3 months ago and the red stains that remained from the pizza that had landed face down when it had slipped out of James' hands last week.

The men nervously began to shuffle through their Bibles and pulled out some notes, obviously looking for somewhere to begin.

James used their off-balanced approach to his advantage. He had dealt with these types before. "I suppose you are going to try and convert me into your religous sect," he said.

They both glanced up at him and the man on the right responded quickly with the practiced line that he had used many times. "We are here to teach the truth. We can show you with the good book that our faith is the faith that the lord truly blesses. We are the true remnant with the last day message and we are trying to reap the harvest before the apocalypse rains down upon the wicked."

James was not a learned man. He was not well versed in the rhetoric that these jesus freaks passed around from one to another. But he did have something else.

"Set your bibles down on the coffee table," he said.

The man on the left began to protest, but the man on the right quickly put his hand up to silence him and then set his own bible down. The man on the left followed suit.

"Now," said James, "I want you to prove to me that god exists."

"We cannot prove to you that he exists," said the man on the left, "You have to learn that for yourself by letting him come into your heart and your mind."

James thought for a moment. "I already have someone to worship and she is more real to me then anything you door to door jesus salesmen have ever shown to me."

The man on the left chuckled. "Do you mean the statue of that crazy looking woman standing over in the corner?"

James scowled, "So you disblieve in the power of Kerrigan?"

"Obviously," replied the man on the left, "she is nothing more than a statue of some goofy cartoon character."

The man on the right didn't say anything though. He was glancing at the statue and it seemed to be scowling a little bit more now then when they first entered the room.

James looked closely at the man on the right and his eyes picked out something unusual. "I notice you have an unusually deep chicken pox scar on your forehead," he said.

The man on the right blushed. "I know," he said, "my mom told me not to pick it, but I couldn't help it. It itched so bad."

"Come with me," said James and he led the man over to the corner of the room where the statue of Kerrigan stood.

"Touch your forehead to the statue's forehead," said James.

The man in the suit hesitated for a moment, then did as he was told.

For a moment, he felt nothing but the cold hard stone against his forehead. He was about to pull away and laugh it off when suddenly he felt a strange warmth. The surface he leaned against became sticky. He felt a moment of panic and tried to pull himself away but the goo held fast and a purple string fell down before his eyes.

"Put your forehead back against the statue," James commanded.

The man did as he was told. For a moment the oozing continued. Then abruptly, everything dried up and he was free to move away. He stumbled back in confusion.

James walked up to him and ran his hand across the man's forehead. Where the chicken pox scar had been only moments before, there was now only the smoothenss of unblemished skin stretched over the man's forhead.

"It's a miracle," the man whispered softly.

Then it was James' turn to take over the conversation. "Learn the ways of the Zerg my brother. Become one with Kerrigan and the swarm. Your life will be complete!!

The other man was still sitting on the couch and he leapt upward in outrage. "Don't listen to this blaphemous infidel!!" he yelled. "These are nothing more than tricks of the devil!!"

"Oh they are?" Joe asked quietly.

Suddenly the purple throw rug with the strange consistency began to rise up all around the outraged evangelist. It climbed up his legs and slowly began to wrap itself around him.

"No!!" he screamed, "You will burn in hell for this you demonic beasts."

Then the ooze wrapped itself completely around the man silencing his cries. For a few moments the rug oozed and gurgled, and then it returned to the floor.

The healed man wasn't sure, but he thought that the circumference of the throw rug was a bit wider now. He turned to James. "You have shown me the path, now teach me the ways of the swarm."

James smiled and put his hand on the man's shoulder, "Welcome my brother."

Together, the two headed back to The Den.

THE END