goodbye skye

He was floating on a hill, which defies the rules of physics and English to a lesser extent. Over the distant dark cityscape that stood in place of what used to be a forest, which was also at one time a molten wasteland and before that was probably nothing, there should have been a sky. At the bottom of everything is nothing, at the end: also nothing. Nothing makes everything possible.

Where had the sky gone? It hadn't exactly fallen. Someone would have noticed. Presumably. Just one day it wasn't there. Anywhere. In it's place was something or maybe nothing. Who would or could decide? He volunteered, but that wasn't really noticed either.