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[Gene-discuss] Re: Help

From: Tammi Peacock
Subject: [Gene-discuss] Re: Help
Date: Mon, 11 Dec 2006 01:42:46 -0500
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You could get by on aspirin or Empirin now. He didn't want her attention to return to him — not at all. He held the jamb and felt her over him felt her hands sinking into his neck and he screamed Die can't you die can't you ever die can't you — "GA W. The open garbage can overflowed onto the floor and emitted the warm reek of spoiling food, but that wasn't the only thing wrong, or the worst smell. A small khaki bag, too big to be a purse and not quite big enough to be a knapsack, was slung over one shoulder. It wasn't like him to labor so painfully, nor to half-fill a wastebasket with random jottings or half-pages which ended with lines like "Misery turned to him, eyes shining, lips murmuring the magic words Oh you numb shithead THIS ISN'T WORKING AT ALL! "It really is the best Misery story of them all, and I do so much want to know how it all comes out.I won't scream. I won't scream! "You must be exhausted. "Don't you use that effword around me,»Annie said. At least you know what's ahead — I'm dying to find out what happens next.

"When he saw us, he started to cry,»he said, and finally added: "He kept calling me David. If you really think people who can write stories can talk worth a damn, you never watched some poor slob of a novelist fumbling his way through an interview on the Today show. Nothing which had gone before — except perhaps for the moment when he had realized that, although his left leg was moving, his left foot was staying put — was as terrible as the hell of this immobility. I've read about some so-called "famous authors", and I know that often they are quite unpleasant. The plainclothesman's self-conscious walk might be as deliberately deceptive as his sleepy look. "She stood only a second, then went to the door, unbarred it, and threw it open. My Lord had been a bit doubtful, but Misery assured him she would be fine, and nearly pushed him out the door. "But you must bum a few of the single pages, Paul — as a symbol of your understanding. An awful memory bloomed there in the dark: his mother had taken him to the Boston Zoo, and he had been looking at a great big bird. Or at the end of Chapter 9, Fiery Doom, he'd be tied to a chair in a burning warehouse. She looked up at him, her dark eyes momentarily as shi ay as coins, her hair fungus-frowzy around her face, the corners of her mouth drawn up in the jolly grin of a lunatic who has, at least for the moment, cast aside all restraints. She performed these chores with the practiced, heavy hand of the long-time sugar junkie. He was as scared of her as ever, but her hold over him had nonetheless diminished. — but she did want him to see the pictures, and to tell her what she had wrong (which, she was sure, must be a great deal). This went very slowly at first — individual clacks followed by spaces of silence, some as long as fifteen seconds. ""Yes,»she said absently, as if this was a foregone conclusion — and Paul supposed it was. So his feeling that she was like an idol in a perfervid novel was not really surprising at all. Geoffrey had followed the old doctor but and spoke hesitantly to him in the kitchen. ""I remember them, but you can't be that old, Annie — you must have seen them on TV, or had an older brother or sister who told you about them. He gave the guide-lever a final wrench and rolled the wheelchair into place beside the window just as her key rattled in the lock. There were three or four, magnets stuck to its door — not surprisingly, they all looked, like candy: a piece of bubble-gum, a Hershey Bar, a Tootsie Roll. On Paul's fourteenth birthday his father had given him a Red Devil condom in a foil envelope.

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