A Little Help Here?
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I thought as I tinkered with the broken panel on the hull of my ship. The temptation to scream was high. I spent the last hour trying to loosen a bolt on this panel and when I finally gained access to the enigmatic ship guts below, I realized I didn’t have the right tool for the task. So, one hour of frustrating boredom followed by complete failure that resulted in hours of work. Yeah, I wanted to scream.
Your breath hangs in the frigid air as you step out of the car. The drive to the campground was uneventful. The bridge over the river wasn’t slick with ice like you expected. You could have stayed at the campground near the entrance to the park, but that is on the other side of the lake and farther away from the area you hope to explore.
Review – On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King
(Note: This book is a little older being published in 2001. The version of the book I read was the original. A reissue was published in 2020 and has addition commentary by Joe Hill and Owen King, which I cannot speak to at this time.)
I was suffocating, dying. The nourishing dirt surrounding me was drying out. The underland had not seen new moisture in a long time. I couldn’t breathe. I kept digging through the rough ground, trying to find moisture. The others were doing the same. We were panicking. I kept finding the holes of the others as we zigzagged through the now crumbling dirt. We knew death was close on our tails.
David slowly opened his eyes to the bright morning sun. He wasn’t ready to wake up. Still, the morning air coming through the open window was crisp and invigorating. He kicked his legs over the side of the bed and looked back at the empty space where his wife slept. Every morning, she left to her job at the hospital before the sun rose. He missed being able to snuggle with her when they woke up, but her job helped pay the bills and save to buy a home.
This morning, I finally arrived home, or what I used to call home. The trip here took so many months I convinced myself that arriving here would be just like coming home from a business trip. I would look at the beautiful exterior of the two-story craftsman I inherited from my grandmother five years previously and fondly remember old times. Then, I would enter the front door to be greeted by Brooks and Dunn, my two faithful golden retrievers. My wife would be walking up behind the boys, wiping her hands on a dish towel, and grinning at me with that smile that lit up the world. I would be at peace.