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Summary
The worst and best and most dangerous part was when insomnia started to feel like holy revelation. When his eyes unfocused and the tiny, malevolent lives under the microscope swam into new patterns, trying consciously, it almost seemed, he was almost certain, to show him something.
And he leaned closer, and it had to be dangerous to be so breathlessly receptive to anything the Sand Pest might tell him. To push himself that way, when nearly everyone he’d met in the town had told him that spelled a quick death in September.
He might have been starving, or aging, at triple speed at that moment. Withering away like a fairytale’s unlucky mark while the microbes whispered to him.