“I wonder what he thought,
that wretched, unnamed boy
with his sieve under his arm
and his pockets bulging with
an odd conglomerate of sandy
tourist coins, what he thought
when he saw me lurching at
him like a blind conductor
stretching out his hands over
a lunatic orchestra, what he
thought as the last of the light
fell across my hands, red and
split and shining with their
burden of eyes, what he
thought when the hands made
that sudden, flailing gesture
in the air, just before his head
burst.
I know what I thought.
I thought I had peeked over
the rim of the universe and
into the fires of hell itself.”–Stephen King (I Am The Doorway)