Her bizarre tale of tidal forces and tide pods made him stir in his bed.
“And that’s why I had to destroy the Moon,” his grandmother whispered in her frail voice.
He wasn’t sure why her story bothered him so much.
Was this newfound anxiety caused by her waking him from a deep sleep at 2:00am?
Or was the real problem his newfound reluctance to look out of his window?
He eventually allowed himself to pull back the curtain and peek out the window near his bed.
A featureless sky loomed above his house.
“New Moon,” he murmured. “I hope.”