The Abyss of Heaven

It splits the clouds apart. We stand above them, walking on their hills and valleys. And as far as the eye can see, it divides the clouds into two: the Abyss of Heaven.

We live on one side. We eat of cloud-stuff and drink rain-water, and live in towers - they are held up by pontoons on cloud-stuff, and rise above the clouds and through them to see the Earth far below. It is a happy life, on the whole: there is little want, and no starvation or disease. But our people are plagued by that worst of curses: curiosity. What is on the other side of the great gap, we wonder. We tried to look across - but a curtain wall was raised up, to prevent us from seeing. We built up our towers higher and higher, filling our streets with butresses and arches to support them, but the curtain wall was built higher and higher. We created birds - the first birds, for we are the designers of waterfowl and carrion-eaters and birds of prey and scavengers all - to look for us; but as soon as they rose above the wall, they abandoned us and flew down to Earth, neglecting their purpose.

Teenagers will sometimes walk down in tunnels, beneath the wall. They will ooh and aah at the eternal sunset-glow of the gap beneath the wall, being very careful of their step. And they will dare each-other to try to cross to the other side. Some will teeter on the edge, just barely staying on their side of the gap. And some will cross over, by mistake or daring - and they are never seen again.

For naught which crosses may return to us. People and sight and thought alike are lost to us once they pass over the gap, for in our idyllic world, we may not even imagine what lies beyond the Abyss of Heaven.