"The stars ..." Mark said.
"Yes?"
"The sun?"
"—shall shine as now."
"A bloody poet."
"A poor poet."
"And girls?"
"I dreamed of a girl named Martha once. Maybe if—"
"What do you think of girls? And stars? And Earth?" And it was bedtime, this time forever.
Charles stood beside the body of his friend. He felt for a pulse once, and allowed the withered hand to fall. He walked to a corner of the shack and turned off the tired air pump.