Elevation

by Stephen King

Not a wind, not even a high, exactly, but an elevation. A sense that you had gone beyond yourself and could go farther still.

Everything leads to this, he thought. To this elevation. If it’s how dying feels, everyone should be glad to go.

were married. I went to ICE. That’s—” “The Institute of Culinary Education in New York!” Myra exclaimed. A few crumbs tumbled onto her frilly silk blouse. She didn’t notice. “It’s famous! Oh my God, I’m so jealous!”

Gravity is the anchor that pulls us down into our graves. There would be no grave for this man, and no more gravity, either. He had been given a special dispensation.

Everyone should have this, he thought, and perhaps, at the end, everyone does. Perhaps in their time of dying, everyone rises.