Excerpt from the book Cujo, written with vaseline and oil on the wall and on the floor:

“I wanted to see it but I didn’t. I wanted to have it but I didn’t. I wanted. I wanted the god but I didn’t have him. I wanted the man, the son, the first animal but I couldn’t see them. I was lying down, awake. I was from the beginning. I wanted to move but I didn’t. I wanted. I was bent over, dead from the beginning. The tall grass almost did not let me see. I was dead from the very beginning. I wanted fear but I couldn’t have it. I was lying down, bent over really dead. I wanted to see the first animal and the roots of the first plant. The tall grass did not let me see. I wanted to stay awake but I slept. I was lying down and the tall grass did not let me see. The bulging eyes almost died one last time. I was there from the very beginning. I wanted fear but I couldn’t have it. I wanted slumber, the ark, some Roman numeral. I wanted the man, but not this one. I wanted a god, but not this one. I heard the thousands of sounds without knowing from what. I was bent over on the grass. I wanted to turn my body and look at the sky but not this one. I wanted to look at the flesh from the very beginning, underneath the skin but not too deep. I wanted to look at the flesh and at the roots of the first plant (this one had only stem). I wanted fear but not of that over there. I mean: of that over there. I wanted to turn my body but without moving. I was dead ever since the first plant. I was dead really dead. Since the very beginning of the first plant. I was a fossil of the first plant but not that plant over there. I mean: that plant over there. I wanted  to look, look, look at this. I was bent over on the tall grass without moving. I wanted to turn my body and look at the sky but not this one.I was really dead and I wanted to say this here.”