How long do the days go on and the nights go on? How long do the peaks rise from the clouds? How long will the land be barren and wet? Thoughts flickered through his mind like a dying television set.
Shuffling through sticks and trees that weren't trees, that would never be trees. His white shoes were scuffed and seeping with the wet earth. Wind came and stole his hair. Only desolation breathed here. Nothing lived for long or high, unless it fell off the edge. And the edge was always just out of sight. There was no edge, yet there must be. Every morning he rose in search of it. Every night he laid on the naked earth and cried.
His shorts were torn. His heart yearned for the edge, the break in the ground.
One day, he found it. He stumbled back, shaking. Here is the edge, he thought. Here is the edge.
photo by Cody Cobb.