Flat Earth

Miles of canyon wall running out into a milky, colorless sky. A sky so blank it stops being sky and becomes a straight edge. Below that line is everything the earth had to say: caverns, drops, spires, reds going down into deeper reds. Above it, nothing whatsoever. And yet every ridge and every tower comes up to exactly the same height, as if the land had agreed among itself where to stop. I have never seen a horizon look so much like a decision.