I was pondering, like I do every week, on what I would write about this week. I thought of touching on the Olympics with is an easy go-to (…and on that note, Shaun White, 4th is NOT bad, my dear) or touching on child stars with the news of Shirley Temple’s death.
However, for some reason, my brain spun off while basking in the warmth of my shower I was pondering how wonderfully crazy hectic my life is getting and how I miss having time to just sit and read. That’s when it hit me… it’s Story Time with Firechild!
I lived in the Bay Area from 1990 to 1996. During that time, I lived all over the area (Momma Fireplant used to keep my address and hair color in pencil in her address book), from in “The City” to the ghetto to the East Bay, etc. I used to take the Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) train to and from work which was a relaxing 45 minute ride each way. During that time I could listen to music, learn lines for a play I was in or read a book.
Stephen King is my ALL time fave author. I love his writing style, story details and how he’ll, just slightly, bring characters from different books together in one book. Very creative.
Now, that being said, I have a GREAT imagination. When I’m reading, I have an HD motion picture spinning inside my brain as I go. Sometimes that’s great and sometimes, it can be almost messy.
One day on BART, I was reading Stephen King’s, Gerald’s Game. The Firechild synopsis of the book is this: A married couple go to their summer home in October for some sexy time. Mrs allows Mr to handcuff her to the bedposts. Mrs gets tired of Mr’s sexy time shenanigans and politely asks him to stop. When Mr doesn’t stop, Mrs hauls off and kicks him squaaaare in the chest and he ends up dead. You see where the dilemma for Mrs starts not to mention shit gets really weird as no one can hear her call for help because no one is in the area…or is there? (insert sinister laugh here.)
At one point Mrs decides that in order to live, she has to pull her hands out of the cuffs regardless of how excruciating the pain is. As she’s pulling, the skin on her wrists and hands is getting ripped away like paper AND, as she’s doing this Firechild’s imagination gets a bit too graphic for her own good.
I almost threw up on BART.
I had to quickly put the book down and mentally talk down that horrible water work that goes off in your mouth just before you let-her-rip. I had to think of some nice pleasant things; ponies and rainbows and shit like that, because we were seconds away from the five or so people directly around me having to go home to change. Thankfully, I succeeded and we all reached our destination unscathed.
I love my imagination! I dig the fact that I dream like a movie every night and that I can read a book and put together a very clear story in my head. However, the BART incident is NOT the only time I damn near puked or passed out simply based on images I conjured up in my own head. If you’re interested, I can tell you about when I went to the Museum of Torture in San Diego, but you’ll have to ask for that story.
Link: StephenKing.com