Between Nowhere and Sky The boy passed out from the pain, a boulder, the weight of a curse and then some, had crushed his foot. For minutes that could pass for never waking up, the father struggled to pry, to pull it free. It was no use. Returning to the truck, parked near a melee of yew trees, cheat grass, cactus, he radioed for help. He pictured his son’s face the color of the sky. The sky was the last thought of fallen birds.