The Meeting

"Excuse me?"

"Religion. I want to write a religious book." Derick explained.

Maria shook her head. "It's unlikely to be published, even if you did finish it. Too controversial. Only seasoned writers can pull off something like that, and sometimes not even them."

Derick's jaw was set. "I can make it happen."

"Go ahead. But don't be surprised if you're disappointed. I'll help you wherever I can. Consider yourself warned."

"Why? Don't you think I can do it?" Derick asked defensively.

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

"Yes."

"Don't quit your job at the factory."

* * *

Derick sat in the rain on the front stoop of his apartment building, his manuscript in hand. The rain drops were quickly wetting the page, turning the printed words into a pool of ink. He had sent it to three different publishers, two literary agents. No one wanted it. He flipped through the pages, watching as his hard work, his time, his tears, washed away. "This is bullshit."

A black Cadillac pulled up to the curb on the street, stopping in front of the building. Derick tried to look past the tinted windows, tried to see the driver. The passenger's side window rolled down, revealing only blackness inside the car.

Derick had an urge to go up to the car and peer inside the open window. He tried to resist, but the feeling was too strong. He carried his manuscript with him as he walked over to the car.