Page 213 - BRAVE NEW WORLD By Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)

Brave New World By Aldous Huxley

still hovered on the fringes of the group, "Go!" the

men shouted again. One of them bent down, took a

stone, threw it. "Go, go, go!" There was a shower of

stones. Bleeding, he ran away into the darkness.

From the red-lit kiva came the noise of singing. The

last of the boys had climbed down the ladder. He

was all alone.

All alone, outside the pueblo, on the bare

plain of the mesa. The rock was like bleached bones

in the moonlight. Down in the valley, the coyotes

were howling at the moon. The bruises hurt him, the

cuts were still bleeding; but it was not for pain that

he sobbed; it was because he was all alone, because

he had been driven out, alone, into this skeleton

world of rocks and moonlight. At the edge of the

precipice he sat down. The moon was behind him;

he looked down into the black shadow of the mesa,

into the black shadow of death. He had only to take

one step, one little jump. He held out his right

hand in the moonlight. From the cut on his wrist the

blood was still oozing. Every few seconds a drop fell,

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