The perfect word did not exist. There was nothing but pain and suffering. Any other feeling is alien to the black world given. Stephen King was jealous of the warped images intruding on such a peaceful soul. His only friend no one trusted him deeply and was faithful to the end. Most turned their back on such helpless soul, knocking at the empty door. Such a bizarre shell certainly could not be human or so friendly it seems. Surely GOD could not exist in such a cruel evil world, only a worthless piece of sh#t could forgive such a man. For being so lost and guilty of nothing.