Cᴀʀʀɪᴇ, by Stephen King, is a suckling pig on a spit. First, darkness. Then, silence. The greasy flesh of others graze against your skin. Bodies indolent beside you, it’s uncomfortable, how tightly you’re packed together. A sputtering engine starts up and the bodies shift. A creeping fear begins at the bottom of your hooves, rises to your snout until it’s all encompassing, you can smell it, the fear and the sharp gasoline exhaust and then the squealing strikes your ears. “Mama?” Your voice can’t compete with the others. A choke comes from deep within your throat as you are shoved this way and that, the truck jerking without warning. Bruised and calloused piglets slamming into your body. Grunts and squeals and oinks and the truck continues to move faster. Bumping over potholes and vibrations like the Earth is splitting beneath you, ready to swallow you whole. Time goes by, how long is impossible to tell. The truck brakes and here comes the sound of heavy boots, and now the sunlight assaults your eyes and the fresh air feels so good but a shadow crosses the sun and here is the man with eyes like the devil and his muscled, taut arms are reaching for you. Snatched up, finally the smells of fear are drifting away and the squeals are getting softer. But then the hooting and the hollering begins and you turn your head slightly to see a large gathering around a fire. They’re drooling, all of them, as they look at you. Unrecognizable faces, all the same to you, but the hunger in their eyes illicits a natural response from you. Twisting and wrenching yourself, trying to squirm out of the man’s hands as he clutches you tighter. And as you’re raised above the burning logs, another man grabs a sharpened wooden stick and here he comes. Nearer and nearer and the squirming hasn’t stopped, and your mind is your only source of strength. A gold chain bumps against your snout, and you chomp down on the jewelry. He stops. Looks at the end of the sharpened stick and it’s turning, he’s turning it around, toward his own eyes that are widening as he sweats and he screams and then suddenly you’ve fallen, just missing the burning flames. And you run. From all that blood.