A phone call in the middle of the night usually meant one of three things: an old friend had gotten totally shitfaced and had decided you’d be glad to hear from him even at two in the morning; a wrong number; bad news.

"The Dead Zone", apparently, is a fan-favorite among the mountain that is King's works. But this is a book with many plots lumped together, and John Smith was given several stages (duties?) to perform, several problems to solve, one bigger than the last one. It's just a shame that the serial killer plot was finished off in the way it did because that part was truly interesting (at least for me). It's just unfortunate that things were just... fizzling out. I guess that's why I couldn't give the book a five-star review.

And to be honest, I don't really care about the grand theme of Are-bad-politicians-deserving-to-die? (because look at you, America, you voted Trump into office!) but the tragic turnout of John and Sarah's story, how they never get the happily-ever-after conclusion hey very much deserve, is what churned my heart and made me cry reading the ending of this book.

It wasn’t a memory he allowed himself to take out too often; he was afraid that constant exposure to the sunlight of recollection might cause it to wash out and fade, like the reddish-tinted proofs they used to give you of your graduation portraits.

The way John clings to his happy memories to keep going broke me for real.