Astronomer v. Astrophysicist

The Astronomer sits on the torn chest of the fallen Astronaut and waits until dark.

The moon rises and the sun falls and the stars show.

Hey! says the Astronomer. Look at Venus!

The Astronomer spends an ungodly time looking at Venus.

What's that over there? It's the moon!

The Astronomer affectionately regards the moon for what seems like forever, but what's actually just over an hour.

Then the Astronomer's lifts his head, sees something, and jumps to his feet.

Pleiades!

The Astronomer stands, head back, staring up at Pleiades.

When he wakes the next morning he can't move his head out of an upward-gazing position. At least not without causing severe neck pain.

This might be the worst pre-duel ailment a guy could suffer, he says. But at least it's not raining.

It starts to rain.

The Astrophysicist trundles in on an all-terrain wheelchair. This is strange given that he seems perfectly healthy. Hale, even. He holds a black umbrella over his head.

Hello there! the Astronomer gurgles.

Fuck off! says the Astrophysicist.

Excuse me?

I said sod the fuck off, you cunt!

Hey, listen, guy -

No, you listen, guy - I'm right angry because I just learned one of my postgrads very well fucked what could have been the greatest discovery since the multiple universe theory, and I'm not back at the uni to see to the flaying of that miserable twat!

The Astronomer chuckles. I know all about that, he says.

Few years back a student of mine leaned against a nine-foot stone Aztec lunar calendar, knocking it off it's mount, sending it rolling down and out the lab, down the stairs, out the street, and onto the highway. A mile later it shattered to bits, to powder - gone! A millennia old - gone! Dust! Also killed a couple of road workers.

The Astrophysicist laughs. It's a horrible mocking laugh.

You stupid git, you worthless rubbage-person. Mine wasn't some soft science bullshit, no loss of materiel. I thought I'd achieved a comprehensive mathematically based cosmography, the Theory of Everything, the TOE - all boiled down to one elegant equation! But it's shit because of his error! Gone! Years of work - gone! Dust!

The Astrophysicist looks at the Astronomer, then looks up. What the fuck are you looking at, anyway?

Neck pain.

You are an ass, aren't you?

You know, a nice guy would let me borrow his umbrella.

Like fuck he would. It's time to shoot. And I'm picking the best fucking pistol. If you don't like it, you can try wrestling it from crippled hands.

Fine.

The Astrophysicist negotiates his wheelchair over the roots of the oak to the table. He picks his gun and drives out to the field. The Astronomer pats the table until he feels a pistol, takes it, and follows the Astrophysicist. They take their places on the field.

The Astronomer tries lower his head. Stabbing pain. No go. O Pleiades please guide this my bullet, he prays.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.