Albert Moore Dreamers

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you're not dead," he managed.
"Next best thing," said Om. "And you know what? No other small god is trying to usurp me. Did I ever tell you about old Ur-Gilash? No? He was the god back in what's now Omnia before me. Not much of one. Basically a weather god. Or a snake god. Some­thing, anyway. It took years to get rid of him, though. Wars and everything. So I've been thinking . . ."
Brutha chosen," he said.
"The great prophets had vision," said Brutha. "Even if they . . . even if you didn't talk to them, they had something to say. What could I say? I haven't got anything to say to anyone. What could I say?"
"Believe in the Great God Om," said the tortoise.
"And then what?"said nothing."Om still exists," said the tortoise. "I mean the shell. All you'd have to do is get people to under­stand."Brutha still said nothing."You can be the next prophet," said Om."I can't! Everyone knows Vorbis will be the next prophet!""Ah, but you'll be official. " "No.""No? I am your God!""And I am my me. I'm not a prophet. I can't even write. I can't read. No one will listen to me."Om looked him up and down."I must admit you're not the chosen one I would have