Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 219

               I don’t know where the light comes from, as the air above me is the darkest black of the darkest night, but with the exception of the stars of the moon. It’s the lack of this which unsettles me. I’d seen it in the night over the desert too. And maybe that was it, a reminder that however peaceful it might be, this is not my world. The stars are a constant reminder that we’re all connected on earth. If I ever felt lonely, I remembered something someone told me once, one of the many quotes, ideas and idle pieces of chatter that passes us by every day. If you’re ever alone look up at the stars, focus on the moon in the sky, just know that someone, somewhere is looking at the light just the same as you.

                And now that’s gone. There’s just blackness. And a blackness so dark I can’t quite say where the light is coming from. I can see the gravel between my hands. Feel the roughness and the dust. A waterfall of it dislodges over on my left and threatens to take me downwards again.

                I look further over my shoulder, very carefully setting myself down on the unstable slope. I can see the chasm, just a hundred metres in front of me, and it’s dark, so dark, with nothing on the other side. But yet the light seems to come from there too. Tempting light and the cold terror of dark all in one place. I know, very quickly that I have to escape from this place, and soon.

                ‘Hello!’ I call. ‘Yates! Upson? Are you there?’

                There’s no reply. It’s the silence that gets to me. Infinite crushing silence, punctuated by occasional, deafening cascades of falling gravel that sound like machine gun fire. The place makes me want to cry, just the endless oppression of it, the fear of not being able to move without being dragged towards that gaping hole in the nothingness.