Touching the Void

I opened my eyes and flinched at the sharp glare of sunlight. Tears

brimmed and watered my vision. I closed my eyes and made a mental
check on myself. Cold and weak. It was still early and the sun had no
warmth. Sharp stones pressed through the sodden fabric of my sleeping
bag. My neck ached. I had slept with my head crooked over between two
rocks. The night had taken forever to pass. There had been little sleep.
The hammering falls had severely affected my leg so that spasms of
pain kept disturbing me when I dozed off. Once I had howled in agony
when cramps in my thigh and calf muscles forced me to twist violently
and bend forward to massage the injured leg. When the pain throbbed
too insistently for sleep, I had lain shivering on the rocky cleft where I
had collapsed and stared at the night sky. Shooting-stars flared in the
myriad bands of stars spread across the night. I watched them flare and
die without interest. As the hours passed, the feeling that I would never
get up overwhelmed me. I lay unmoving on my back, feeling pinned to
the rocks, weighed down by a numb weariness and fear until it seemed
that the star-spread blackness above me was pushing me relentlessly
into the ground. I spent so much of the night wide-eyed, staring at the
timeless vista of stars, that time seemed frozen and spoke volumes to
me of solitude and loneliness, leaving me with the inescapable thought
that I would never move again. I fancied myself lying there for centuries,
waiting for a sun that would never rise. I slept in sudden stolen minutes
and awoke to the same stars and the same inevitable thoughts. They
talked to me without my consent, whispering dreads that I knew were
untrue but couldn't ignore. The voice told me I was too late; time had run
out.

Now my head was basked in sunshine while my body lay shadowed by a

large boulder on my left. I pulled the draw-cord open with my teeth and
tried to shuffle out of the bag and into the sun. Every movement caused
flares of pain in my knee. Though I moved only six feet, the effort left me
slumped in exhaustion on the screes. I could hardly believe how badly I
had deteriorated during the night. Pulling myself along with my arms had
become the limit of my strength. I shook my head from side to side,
trying to wake myself and drive the lethargy away. It had no effect, and I
lay back on the rocks. I had hit some sort of wall. I wasn't sure whether it
was mental or physical but it smothered me in a blanket of weakness
and apathy. I wanted to move but couldn't. Lifting my arm to shield the
sun from my eyes required a deliberate struggle. I lay motionless,
frightened by my weakness. If I could get water I would have a chance. It
would be just one chance. If I didn't reach the camp that day then I
would never do so.

Questions:

1. Why had the writer not been able to get sleep during the night?
Please provide a detailed answer.
2. What thoughts did he keep waking up to?
 3. Why did the writer want to move from where he was lying and why
was he unable to move?

1. Re-read the extract from Touching the Void.

a. List the words and phrases in the extract that show you:

 how the writer feels physically

 how the writer feels emotionally.

Explain why he feels as he does.

b. What is the difference in tone (how the writer was feeling) between
these lines:

 The voice told me I was too late; time had run out.
 If I could get water I would have a chance.