She pointed to the drawing. "His eyes. The way they moved. He didn't want to be here. He was lost."
"All of them," he said. "None of them."
The road out of Asteroid City was long and straight, disappearing into a heat shimmer that made the horizon look like water. Stanley got into the car. Midge waved from the diner doorway. Woodrow started the engine. Asteroid City
He looked out at the crater. The lizard with the blue tail was back, sunning itself on a rock. "I suppose we go home."
"Or a pupil," Midge said. "An eye looking up at what hit it." She pointed to the drawing
Before Woodrow could answer, the creature’s slitted eyes widened. It looked up. Everyone looked up. The sky had begun to peel. Not metaphorically. Literally. A corner of the blue overhead curled back like wallpaper, revealing a void of absolute, silent black. Through that tear, figures could be seen—enormous, blurred shapes moving in a world of muted grays and sepia. They looked like stagehands. They looked like gods. They looked like men in coveralls pushing a scaffold.
Then, just as quickly, the sky smoothed over. The creature was gone. The cube lay in the dust, inert. He didn't want to be here
Thank you.