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.
.
.
they
go
away
.
.
.
strangers
die
.
.
.
people
you
know
fairly
well
die
.
.
.
friends
die
.
.
.
people
murder
people
,
like
in
books
.
.
.
your
own
folks
can
die
.
So
.
.
.
He
held
onto
a
double
fistful
of
breath
,
let
it
hiss
out
slow
,
grabbed
more
breath
,
and
let
it
whisper
through
his
tight
-
gritted
teeth
.
SO
.
He
finished
in
huge
heavily
blocked
capitals
.
SO
IF
TROLLEYS
AND
RUNABOUTS
AND
FRIENDS
AND
NEAR
FRIENDS
CAN
GO
AWAY
FOR
A
WHILE
OR
GO
AWAY
FOREVER
,
OR
RUST
,
OR
FALL
APART
OR
DIE
,
AND
IF
PEOPLE
CAN
BE
MURDERED
,
AND
IF
SOMEONE
LIKE
GREAT
—
GRANDMA
,
WHO
WAS
GOING
TO
LIVE
FOREVER
,
CAN
DIE
.
.
.
IF
ALL
OF
THIS
IS
TRUE
.
.
.
THEN
.
.
.
I
,
DOUGLAS
SPAULDING
,
SOME
DAY
.
.
.
MUST
.
.
.
But
the
fireflies
,
as
if
extinguished
by
his
somber
thoughts
,
had
softly
turned
themselves
off
.
I
can
’
t
write
any
more
,
anyway
,
thought
Douglas
.
I
won
’
t
write
any
more
.
I
won
’
t
,
I
won
’
t
finish
it
tonight
.
He
looked
over
at
Tom
asleep
on
his
upraised
elbow
and
hand
.
He
touched
Tom
’
s
wrist
and
Tom
collapsed
into
a
sighing
ruin
,
back
upon
the
bed
.
