When she was eight my daughter biked past a five-foot tall shrub without looking and was hit by a car coming out of the alley. Thank goodness she was fine, though she’d broken her leg in several places. The hospital wanted her to stay overnight. Sleep should have come easily to us both, but we weren’t at home—besides, I couldn’t shake the image of my daughter crumpled up on the pavement. She asked if I’d tell her a story, though we hadn’t done that in years. I told her I was out of practice. She said at sleepover parties they play this game. Each person says a sentence and together they make up a story. I said, you start. She thought for a moment, then said, “Once upon a time there was a gorgeous insect.” And I said, “Everybody loved him.” She said, “Even though he ate poop all day.” I said, “But nobody seemed to mind.” She said, “His mom and dad minded, they told him to go away and never come back.” I said, “But he learned how to shower and then they all hugged.” She said, “But he still smelled so gross that his parents threw up.” And I said, “But their vomit smelled amazing, like spices on the rack.” She said, “The insect was allergic to hugs and ran away.” I said, “His parents hired ninjas to bring him home.” She said, “But the gorgeous insect beat the ninjas up.” I said, “So the parents unleashed a ninja army.” She said, “The gorgeous insect was in a plane crash and died.” I said, “But it was only a dream.” She said, “It was a dream, but it was also true, and he was dead forever.” I said, “The mother and father went to the underworld and brought him back.” She said, “The devil told them that’s not allowed.” I said, “So the father fought the devil.” She said, “And the father lost.” I said, “The mother was stronger.” She said, “The devil ate her up.” I said, “Bad move, mom bursts through the devil’s skin.” She told me I was ruining the game. I said I was sorry, she could finish the story how she liked. “The insect dies or survives or whatever,” she said. I said those weren’t the only choices. She yawned, and while a hospital room never gets truly dark, this one was close, and soon she went to sleep, dreaming things either true or not, and before long sleep came for me as well.