The Door
He lowered his head
He saw the rose
Beyond even the clearest of dreams
A live force
It came from the Dark Tower itself
Concentrating
Concentrating
Concentrating
The floor trembled beneath his feet
Vibrating in his very bones
Manic buzzing
Humming
Rattling
Yet the door remained closed
Something between him and the door
A hook
A thorn
The force seemed to double
Blew out the sun
Voices began to babble
Spoke, but not in words
Far more terrible than any words
Voices you hear in dreams
A draining sensation
The metallic aroma of his own sweat
Scream.
Powerful, terrifying vividness
Immediate, enormous pain
Tearing him apart
Caught on the hook
No, stop, let go.
Blurred.
Slipped.
Pushed.
Bolted forward, shot into darkness.
He was dazzled; it laid his heart open.
Passage between worlds
Then the gunfire.
Then the killing.