They fell, of course. Not down—but out . The hull had kissed the meteor swarm with a lover’s violence, and now the rocket was a bright bouquet of scrap, and the men were seeds scattered across an ink-black garden.
And for one incandescent moment, he became a shard of light in a billion turning pieces—falling not into death, but into the endless, hungry, beautiful kaleidoscope of being remembered. kaleidoscope ray bradbury
“…can’t be just me. Anyone? Tom? Les?” They fell, of course