James

by Percival Everett

At that moment the power of reading made itself clear and real to me. If I could see the words, then no one could control them or what I got from them. They couldn’t even know if I was merely seeing them or reading them, sounding them out or comprehending them. It was a completely private affair and completely free and, therefore, completely subversive.

I considered running, leaving my raccoon friend, but in which direction does one run from lightning?

With my pencil, I wrote myself into being. I wrote myself to here.