The Institute

by Stephen King

It came to him (and with the force of a revelation) that life was basically one long SAT test, and instead of four or five choices, you got dozens. Including shit like some of the time and maybe so, maybe not.

Debt was a commodity. It was bought and sold, and at some point it had become the center of not just the American economy, but of the world’s. And yet it did not really exist. It wasn’t a concrete thing like gas or gold or diamonds; it was only an idea. A promise to pay.

Luke guessed that in a country where people squalled about Big Brother even if faced with some piddling requirement like having to wear a motorcycle helmet or get a license to carry a concealed weapon, the answer would be “not much.”

Because there was an abyss, and books contained magical incantations to raise what was hidden there: all the great mysteries.

It was so simple, but it was a revelation: what you did for yourself was what gave you the power.

Avery Dixon—who should have been home eating supper with his parents after another hard day of being the smallest boy in his fifth-grade class—took

Mutiny—or revolution, to use a less pejorative term—was like a virus, especially in the Information Age. It could spread.

Tim could still feel that phantom gust of wind that had shoved him into the fence. “We’re not exactly going there to save them, are we?” Luke regarded him soberly. With his dirty bruised face and bandaged ear, he looked like the most harmless of children. Then he smiled, and for a moment didn’t look harmless at all. “No. We’re going to pick up the pieces.”

Avery Dixon had one final thought, both clear and calm: I loved having friends.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He turned to regard the misguided hero. He was broad-shouldered (as an authentic hero should be), but he was wearing glasses, and that didn’t fit the stereotype.

He had no psychic powers, but there was one power he did have: he was the grownup. The adult. They wanted him to tell them there was no monster under the bed.

As a species, we’re built to do one thing above all others, and you kids did it.” He reached out with both hands and wiped the tears from Kalisha’s cheeks. “You survived. You used your love and your wits, and you survived. Now let’s have some cake.”

Sometimes a hug was telepathy.