He didn’t know why he ate the sun, but he was sure it had something to do with the fact that he was in a perfect world.

It put up a good fight, squabbling away from his grasp as he tried to choke it down, crawling like an insect up his throat, before one good swallow forced it into his stomach, where it burned dully, subdued at last. Its light radiated through his pores, warming his skin, illuminating the path before him. Finally. How long had we waited?

In the distance, he could see the owl approaching, flying with leisure, wings long as winter one moment and then shorter than life the next. The sun urged him forward, puling him forward. Go, meet the reason. Understand.

It was coming closer and closer, just a breath away. He waited anxiously for the wisdom, for the truth, to be gratified at last. Everything would make sense once he heard these words. The owl opened up its mouth to sing the song, to explain—

“No sleeping on the job, Mr. Crandall,” said the owl.

He woke up feeling empty.