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Stephen King novel promotes deep thought


Geralds Game
A funny thing about life I learned while reading one of Stephen King’s excellent novels, Gerald’s Game

Under extreme stress, the mind, once comparatively serene, now turns inside out. Completely backwards, or perhaps simply out of context, thoughts found to be so inappropriate, attack the pores of the brain, the mind itself, as though these thoughts were a single nebulous, gaseous, yet liquid entity…

The wildest thoughts ensue.

For example, in Stephen King’s Gerald’s Game, this poor gal is still handcuffed to her bedposts after her husband’s accidental death during a session of over-the-top experimental sex-play.

As she screams for help from the bedroom of their lonesome summer cottage on the lake, a stray dog hears and senses the powerlessness of the sound. Hungry and desperate, the dog makes its way toward where the sound emanates.

A windy fally day, the screen door bangs open and closed to the back porch, allowing easy entry for the curious dog that feels opportunity at paw.

Having only died moments ago, the aroma of the husband’s blood now wafts through the cottage and into the nostrils of one eager canine. As the dog pads up the wooden stairs, the recently-become widow hears and shouts “Go away!” This time, the weakness is evident to any ear.

The dog continues, enters the room and takes in the scene but only focuses on the source of the sinfully tempting smell of a once-master’s blood. He lays on the floor, head-meat cracked open, and his weak master-woman is stuck to the bed above.

As the dog sinks in its teeth to the plump upper arm of her late husband, the widow realizes she recently had the floors waxed.

The dog yanks this way and that, and the woman sees her dead husband’s body slide…

Gone into accepting reality as surreal fantasy, the woman plays the current scene and provides advising commentary…

“…growls change to muffled pants of effort, and as Jessie watched the rest of Gerald’s body began to bop along with his foot, first just jiving back and forth and then actually starting to slide, as if he had gotten all the way into the groove, dead or not.

Get down, Disco Gerald! Jessie thought wildly.

Nevermind the Chicken or the Shag – do the Dog!

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