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It takes away your hair and your jump-shot, according to a popular country song, but in truth it takes away a lot more than that. I didn't know it in and '67, and if I had, I wouldn't have cared.
I could imagine--barely--being forty, but fifty? Sixty was out of the question. And at nineteen, that's just the way to be.
Nineteen is the age where you say Look out, world, I'm smokin'TNT and I'm drinkin' dynamite, so if you know what's good for ya, get out of my way--here comes Stevie.
Nineteen's a selfish age and finds one's cares tightly circumscribed. I had a lot of reach, and I cared about that. I had a lot of ambition, and I cared about that.
Historical Horror Humorous Mystery Romance. Science Fiction Thriller Western Young Adult. Home The Gunslinger. Read The Gunslinger online free.
Author: Stephen King. Coiling Dragon. Trial Marriage Husband: Need to Work Hard. Chaotic Sword God.
Martial God Asura. He is a haunting, solitary figure at first, on a mysterious quest through a desolate world that eerily mirrors our own.
Pursuing the man in black, an evil being who can bring the dead back to life, Roland is a good man who seems to leave nothing but death in his wake.
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Ninteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Chapter Twenty-eight.
GENRES Adventure Christian Fantasy Historical Horror Humorous Mystery New Adult Romance Science Fiction Thriller Western Young Adult New Adult.
Not close enough to see smoke at dusk. He struck his spark to the dry, shredded grass and lay down upwind, letting the dreamsmoke blow out toward the waste.
The wind, except for occasional gyrating dust devils, was constant. Above, the stars were unwinking, also constant.
Suns and worlds by the million. Dizzying constellations, cold fire in every primary hue. As he watched, the sky washed from violet to ebony. A meteor etched a brief, spectacular arc and winked out.
He had laid his fuel in a pattern that was not artful but only workable. It spoke of blacks and whites. It spoke of a man who might straighten bad pictures in strange hotel rooms.
The fire burned its steady, slow flame, and phantoms danced in its incandescent core. The gunslinger did not see. He slept. The two patterns, art and craft, were welded together.
The wind moaned. Every now and then a perverse downdraft would make the smoke whirl and eddy toward him, and sporadic whiffs of the smoke touched him.
They built dreams in the same way that a small irritant may build a pearl in an oyster. Occasionally the gunslinger moaned with the wind. The stars were as indifferent to this as they were to wars, crucifixions, resurrections.
This also would have pleased him. II He had come down off the last of the foothills leading the donkey, whose eyes were already dead and bulging with the heat.
He had passed the last town three weeks be- fore, and since then there had only been the deserted coach track and an occasional huddle of border dwellers' sod dwellings.
The huddles had degenerated into single dwellings, most inhabited by lepers or madmen. He found the madmen better company. One had given him a stainless steel Silva compass and bade him give it to Jesus.