I’ve fallen into a parallel universe. A detailed what-if-of-a-world complete with time travel, murder, and true love. Six-hundred and ninety-five pages later, I can’t crawl out. It’s as if the vortex of Al’s Dinner and the machine full of sharp teeth inside the Texas School Book Depository have kidnapped me. Stephen King’s words are holding me hostage until I finish the remaining hundred and forty-seven pages.
Dishes collect in the sink. My family complains of hunger. The dog scratches at the door.
“Mom. Are you listening?”
“Just a sec. Let me finish this page.”
CRISPLY SPOKEN 