"Don't ask me." Tom blew a tune on a dandelion stem. "I didn't make the world." He thought about it. "Though some days I feel like I did." He spat happily.
"I got a hunch," said Douglas.
"Next year's going to be even bigger, days will be brighter, nights longer and darker, more people dying, more babies born, and me in the middle of it all."
"You and two zillion other people, Doug, remember."
"Day like today," murmured Douglas, "I feel it'll be... just me!"
"Need any help," said Tom, "just yell."
"What could a ten-year-old brother do?"
"A ten-year-old brother'll be eleven next summer. I'll unwind the world like the rubber band on a golf ball's insides every morning, put it back together every night. Show you how, if you ask."
"Always was." Tom crossed his eyes, stuck out his tongue. "Always will be."
(А картинка - мой любимый Яцек Йерка, конечно же.)