Sighing, he closes the book and puts in on the floor beside the couch, trying to think of something else but the problems around him. He turns on his back, staring at the ceiling again, noticing that there's a crack on it.
What if the house will fall into pieces, and I'll be crushed under them? Wouldn't that be jolly?
He'd want to fall asleep, but doesn't feel drowsy, just internally exhausted.*