End of the line

Time melts into a haze of light and dark, heat and cold. Minutes disappear. Seconds evaporate. His only measure of existence is a foot in front of the other- forever.
And there it is- the Darkland. Site of the world’s ending.
The very air is black, filled with clinging, choking motes of dying earth. The ground is charred and crumbling, lifeless. The sun hangs in the midnight sky, a blackened, sober silhouette.
Nothing alive in there, he thinks. The air moves, the wind croons. Suddenly he knows better.
Helpless, he walks into death itself.
The Darkland swallows him without chewing.