Tuesday Tuesday Tuesday Tuesday Tuesday Tuesdaytuesdaytuesdaytuesday.
A hundred million Tuesdays passing faster and slower than the birth of a cosmos or life of a star.
Tuesday. Tuesday. Tuesday again.
At first, when it had all started, when the count was in the low hundreds of thousands, every snuffing had left a bitter taste in Sam's mouth, stopped his heart and broken a bit of his mind. Tuesday. But after a while the fragmenting built up and plateaued, his tears stopping and his heart empty.
You can't break what isn't whole, at least, not in a manner that mattered.
T. U. E. S. D. A. Y.
In time, in triple-triple digits time, Sam knew ALL.
Every scrap of information in the library, every bit on the internet, every byte on every PC and portable computer and cell phone in a hundred mile radius.
He could recite the latest town census by heart. Favourite colours. Secret Santas. The actual max MPG of the sacred Impala. The way Professor Hassels daughter liked to fuck girls. The mayors furry fetish. How Dean really wanted to see his baby brother moaning like a whore while he rode him. How the mystery spot originally had Formica countertops and a serious asbestos problem.
If it existed on that Tuesday Sam knew it backwards, forwards, upside down, and inside out.
Once, Sam even found the cure for shingles. It was flammable. Tasted like mint.
But then, one day, Sam saw something 'new' and the next thing anyone knew it was Wednesday.