The best part was how the moon never quite got full, 
so one of them made a blueberry pie to help them 
feel fuller, and each blueberry was bigger than 
the pie itself. The blue itself was the next best part, 
each berry's blue bigger than its berry, a blue that was, 
the narrator said, part color and part action, part 
filling up parts of their bodies that had forgotten 
how to taste blue. Just before the moon part, 
all the characters who were still awake sort of flowed 
like water down to the dock, trying to hold on 
to their own body parts. Then the part about them 
just talking, as if nothing were going to happen, 
the part when something would happen still out there 
in the mild air. None of them had lost their body parts 
yet, nor did the pie even exist. It was summer, 
and although summer had already passed into the part 
when something would happen, the narrator suggested, 
their discussion had not really gone anywhere. 
Actually, there was some debate about whether 
the moon had in fact already become full, but then 
one of them remembered how one of them had said 
earlier that she doesn't like when people just "drop in." 
That was just after the part where someone just 
dropped in to their part of the lake, the same part 
where later the moonlight would just drop in 
and form a circle that was measurably bigger than 
the moon itself. The part that seemed out of place 
in a well-placed way was the if-Jupiter-was-a-pie part, 
when a whole lot of blueberry-sized Earths just 
dropped in, and it took 915 of them to fill it up. 
The one character who had no opinion about 
all of this was the carp in hell, the part of hell 
in all their body parts, the carp moving through them, 
deep down in the holy murk of their lungs. In theory, 
there should have been a last part, but that wasn't 
the last part they remember, because when they 
woke up the next morning, there was nowhere 
to go and nothing to run into but blue 
and blue and blue and blue.  

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