The Boy Who Couldn't Sleep and Never Had To by DC Pierson

of cleverly segue into and you get the attention of the person you intend to say it to and in that moment you reach down for your favorite clever segue and it’s not there so you just figure “Let’s get this over with as fast as possible,” and sometimes it’s sloppy and they don’t understand you but I hear Eric clearly I think.
    â€œWell, don’t drink so much caffeine or whatever.”
    â€œNo. That’s not what I mean. I mean I can’t sleep. I’ve never been able to and I don’t have to. I am physically incapable of it and don’t require it.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNext you’re going to ask if I’m joking. I’m not. Then you’re going to accuse me of being crazy. I can’t speak on that as definitively as I can on the fact that I’m not joking, but I don’t think I am. It’s been this way since I was born.”
    â€œYou’re serious.”
    â€œYes.”
    Eric sets his water bottle down on the counter and it lands with a quick series of sounds instead of just one, and that’s when I notice he’s trembling, which is also a lot like the time I told SaraEldensparr I liked her, except all I told Sara Eldensparr was that I liked her, not that I could walk through walls or spit fire or eat bullets out of midair.
    â€œThat’s impossible.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œYou can’t NOT sleep. I saw a thing about this on the Discovery Channel. While you’re sleeping, your body regenerates. If you didn’t sleep, you’d die.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œAnd your subconscious mind works a bunch of things out while you sleep. Sometimes apparently you can go to sleep with something on your mind, and when you wake up, you just KNOW the answer, because your brain worked it out without you having to tell it to.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œAnd besides, you’re legally insane after seventy-two hours! I saw this on Court TV, this guy used it as his defense in court when he murdered his wife, he had insomnia—”
    â€œDo I seem legally insane?”
    â€œSort of! You’re telling me you don’t have to sleep—”
    â€œI CAN’T sleep.”
    â€œYou’re telling me you can’t sleep! That seems insane.”
    â€œI don’t know. I just can’t do it and I’ve never had to and I’ve never been able to. I’ve tried. Trust me. I’ve tried. I don’t know.”
    â€œDude.” I don’t know what to say. Then I think of something. “Prove it.”
    â€œIt’s not a trick I can do. You would just have to sit and watch me not sleep.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œOkay.”
    We go up to Eric’s bedroom. There’s a couch and a desk with a computer and a TV with a PlayStation 2 hooked up and three or four bookshelves completely full and a ton of other stuff. There’s a bed that looks like it was made up by a Marine, sheets perfect like in a furniture showroom.
    â€œWho sleeps in that bed, then?” I say. “Not me,” Eric says.
    It’s one in the morning when I settle in to watch Eric not sleep.
    â€œDude, if you’re joking, now would be the time to tell me that you’re joking.”
    â€œAgain: not joking,” Eric says, sitting down on the couch. “What do you want to do?”
    â€œI don’t know!”
    â€œI mean, while we wait. While I prove it by not sleeping. I rented Bastion Of Heroes, the co-op mode is actually very—”
    â€œNo. Sorry. Let’s just—” I don’t even know what “let’s just.” I shut up and collapse against the opposite wall of the room and slide down into a sitting position. And I guess I’m willing to stay this way until Eric tells me what his deal is.
    I am completely mind-fucked sideways by this. And that’s only assuming right up front that it’s not true. If what Eric’s saying is false,