The Dark Tower: Way of the Hare, Path of the Rat

Stephen King has become a regular frothing at the mouth far leftist. I find it most humorous that this is not even the same guy, post Mandela effect. If you are one of the dear readers, you know he announced his retirement in, gee 2011-12. This guy is a Mandela effect knock off who has lost the song, if you know what I mean, and can't do anything but shill his pale knock off ideas to mainstream media. By fear not friends, the song is not lost, in fact, its only half done:

The Dark Tower:

Way of the Hare, Path of the Rat

Volume 1

Prologue

1.

Don Callahan opened his eyes to see nothing but the most intense field of blue he had ever imagined. In the center of his field of vision the blue was so intense as to be beyond Royal blue, perhaps a majestic blue would be a better term for what he saw. From this intense center, the blue radiated out to the edges of his vision where it turned into a light powdery blue. But there was no sun in this sky. Then why was there light, he wondered. For a brief moment, a memory echo of pain radiated through his skull and then was gone.

The next thing that he noticed was that he could feel grass under the palms of his hands. He sat up. He was sitting in the middle of a grassy meadow. Trees of every kind and variety ringed the meadow. Everywhere he looked the colors vibrant and alive. And every color that he saw was more intense, more real, more there. It was as if everything were generating its colors from inside and projecting them outward into the world.

It was then that memory came flooding back into Callahan's mind. He had been inside Dixie Pig with Jake and Oy. He had ordered the Jake to go and find Susannah before he had fallen to the Taheen and Can-Toi. The vampires, the old ones, the type ones had been descending upon him. And in those last few moments inside the restaurant, he had been possessed, or perhaps established some sort of mental link with Jake's dinh, Roland. Roland’s voice had spoken through his mouth and ordered Jake go. He had, leaving Callahan to cover him. The last words Roland had spoken in Callahan’s mind had been addressed to him, Don Callahan, naming him a member of their ka-tet. Naming him a gunslinger.

And then Callahan had been alone with his destiny. He had known what the vampires had in store for him, and he knew it wasn't to be taken or turned into one of them. They knew him. They hated him. Once upon a time, their intentions toward him had been to die an ignoble and lingering death by infecting him with AIDS. Not this time.. No, this time they’d had no more intent than ripping him to shreds and feeding on his corpse. Faced with this scenario inside the Dixie pig, he chose the same course of action he had before. Suicide. He had placed Jake's Ruger under his chin and blown the top of his own head off rather than provide sport for the vampires.

And now he was here, wherever here was.

He twisted his hands into the grass and pulled a double handful of it in front of his face. He could see the varying shades of green in the grass like he never had before. It was as if every different shade of green were its own day-glo color of psychedelic black light paint. Tiny sparkles of an even brighter green worked their way around the stems of each blade of grass, spiraling the length of each and every one like the twist on a barbershop pole. And what was more, the smell of the grass was the same way. He could smell tones of earth and grass he had never experienced before. And it was the same in every direction he looked. He climbed to his feet to see, feel, and smell more.

To the edges of this meadow, everywhere his eye could see was more of the vibrant grass that rose to about waist height. Callahan looked back down at where he had lain. And here was a man shaped depression in the grass, but absolutely no tracks or any other indications of disturbance in the grassy meadow to indicate how he had come to be there. It was as if he had simply fallen out of the sky to make a depression in the grass. Well that does it, I am well and truly dead I think.

As he was thinking this he began to take in the surroundings further out, and discovered much to his surprise someone standing not five feet away from him that had definitely not been there a moment ago. At a glance, the first thing that popped into Callahan’s mind was hippy. But when his eyes met the eyes of the newcomer, he immediately knew who this was and fell to his knees, his senses reeling. This was his Lord God Jesus Christ, known throughout the world he had most recently inhabited as The Man Jesus. And there was no doubt of that also to Callahan. This was a man, and this man was dressed most oddly for a messiah, but it was definitely Him. His long hair brushed the shoulders of a green tie-dyed T-shirt that had large puffy letters across the front boldly querying “What Would You Do?”

The T-shirt hung loose around the waist of cut off blue jean shorts that ended a few inches above the knee. His calves were crisscrossed by the laces of sandals of ancient design that would not have been out of ordinary in ancient Rome or on the beaches of California in the sixties. In fact the overall effect was one that kind of left the impression of a beach bum surfer. But it was the eyes. Callahan knew Him by the eyes, the eyes that told a story of pain, endurance, love, joy, and the infinite. These were the eyes of GOD looking at him through the gaze of a man.

“Hello Donald, and well come, thou art most certainly well received here.”

The voice was rich and verdant in pitch and timber; The words rolling with sound. He was certain that there were levels to the sound that were out of the range of his human hearing. Callahan didn’t know what to say for a moment.

“Where is here exactly, My Lord?”

“ I guess you might call this the clearing at the end of the path, that is so oft spoken of in mid-world, in-world, and end-world whence ye came.”

“Is this also what one might call purgatory then? Is this where I contemplate my sins? Is that what you are telling me?” Because he knew he couldn’t possibly be worthy of heaven with the sin of suicide lying heavy upon his soul, not once but twice.

“No, not exactly.”

“Well, I think that I don’t understand then. I know that my soul cannot be acceptable to the throne of heaven, Lord.”

“And what exactly makes you say that, my son?”

“I know the rules. I did spend a large portion of my life preaching the Word, Lord, even if I didn’t always pay enough attention to what I was preaching. Suicide is an unforgivable sin.”

“And so you are certain that the rules are so carved in stone that there is no room for an exception? Does not the exception clarify the rule?” He delivers this with a smile playing about His bearded face.

“I am quite sure that I wouldn’t know, Lord. I hear what you are saying to me, I understand, but I’m pretty sure I’m not qualified to make that distinction in this circumstance.”

“Walk with me, my son.” He says, and gestures for Callahan to fall in beside Him as He begins to stride off through the grass that looks almost fluorescent green, except that's not right exactly. There are too many other subtle hues in between along every blade of grass.

He strides off into this Technicolor landscape, hurrying to catch up with the Man Jesus. He realizes that he's got something in his hand. And when he holds it up and looks, its Jake's Ruger, still solidly in his grip. He suddenly feels awkward and stuffs the barrel of the gun behind his back and into the waistband of his jeans. He feels a sudden stinging guilt for the thing made by man that has only one purpose, to kill. Yet the figure now striding next to him could not but have helped to have seen it in his hand and had said not a word of it. He can also feel the weight of the handful of bullets in his shirt pocket, gently pulling against his stride.

What was he thinking? Here he was, walking through what was only the fabled clearing at the end of the path, right next to his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and his thoughts were as scattered as dandelions on the wind. He needed to focus, concentrate his attention on the conversation at hand, and by all means try not to offend the King of Kings.

"Let me be honest with you, my son. You have been through a lot; you have seen more and done more than most people do in 10 lifetimes. You have experienced a point of view that few people ever know. You have faced true evil, more than once. You have walked the hidden highways and have seen only a fraction of the worlds that be. You have lived in a time far removed from your own, and you have come to know the people's that lived there. You have even brought many of them to Me. My point is this Donald, if ever in your life you felt like you have been unacceptable to Me or to the throne of heaven, that you have ever been so unworthy based upon your actions or lack thereof. Then know ye this and hear Me very well, you are forgiven. Your honest heartfelt actions since have redeemed you. You have earned your rest Donald."

"But Lord, I took my life not once but twice. Two unforgivable sins."

“But did you really? Your leap from the building did not end your life, but instead led you to the Calla did it not?”

“Yes, but my intent was still suicide when I broke through the window.”

“And are you so sure you died when you left the restaurant filled with the animate dead intent on consuming you?”

“Honestly, Lord, I thought they still intended to infect me with the HIV virus as Sayre had intended in Chicago, or to make sport of me in the process of killing me. With no real time to think, I took the same approach to the problem as before. Kill myself to kill their plans for me, whatever they had been.” Callahan said as he now noticed a flying . . . shape, undulating through the sky past them. It was definitely not a bird. It was mostly transparent as it moved. At least it was to Callahan’s eye. In fact it was as if its movement was the only thing to make it at least partly visible. Callahan got the impression of a huge head with a long serpentine tail, which seemed the source of propulsion for the barely visible (creature?) that was now pulling out of sight against the impossibly blue sky.

“So you really aren’t sure.”

Leaving thoughts of strange things in the sky here, Callahan returned his attention to the conversation at hand deciding his best bet would be to keep the focus of his eyes on the surrounding grass.

“No, Lord, I guess I am not.” he replied, thinking that when a person intentionally blows their own head off, they should be able to have some certainty as to the outcome, but that was apparently not the case, at least not for him Donald Callahan.

“As I said before, you have earned your rest, however, you have a choice. Your part in this tale need not be done. But the choice is yours to either move on to the kingdom of heaven or to go back into the world and become simply Callahan of the roads once more."

Callahan now notices as they approach the edge of the clearing, that there are two paths carved out of the surrounding forest. Both of them seemed to be running off in the same general direction but Callahan knew that they weren't destined to come out in the same place. The one on the right (may it do ya fine) seems to be brightly lit by a source of white light far down that path. The one on the left seems perfectly normal, but compared to the one on the right it was dim and dark.

Callahan considered the options here.

Give a thumbs up if you want more.