Why do we care so deeply for fictional characters? In print or on screen- we hurt for them, laugh and hope and weep for the creations from other people's imaginations.

Today, sadly, I finished Stephen King's latest book, Duma Key (I think it is latest. The guy produces new books faster than gas prices rise). On Dan's recommendation I bought it hard cover and plowed my way through over the past few months, finding it every bit as good as he claimed. Certainly, it's King's best book since Bag of Bones, and perhaps better. Some sentences made me stop and gasp at their greatness. After certain sections, I purposely closed the book for fear of what lie ahead. Do other people do that? I would look at the book on my table and know I wanted to read it but that something bad would happen to the characters for whom I only wanted good. Part of me is still pissed at King for killing certain characters. And with the closure of any stirring book, there is regret that the tale and its characters do not live on.

The book went so far as to force me to finish in the daylight. Dark things relish the night and King's story needed no help in conjuring more darkness and fear. I knew the entire time it was fictional and yet still felt real emotions for those characters spawned from King's mind and long Maine walks.

Now I'm off to write a short, dark tale of my own.