In the Tall Grass

by Stephen King

Becky’s hands went to her bulge—she refused to call it a baby-bump, that was so People magazine—and cradled it lightly.

It was half past nothing when Becky began to sob.

Constellations of black and silver sparks exploded at the edges of her vision. Pinwheel stars, she thought. It was oddly fascinating, watching as new universes were born and died, appearing and winking out. She would soon be winking out herself, she understood. This did not seem such a terrible thing. Urgent action was not required.