For minutes (Or was it hours or days? Time hadn't felt real for so long now...) the only thing he could see in the pitch black nothingness where his street used to be was the lamppost just in front of the park he'd spent most of his childhood summers in. Of course there were no children there now, not at this hour, though this hour seemed to have been the present long enough for him to grow a beard.
He absentmindedly ran his fingers through the new beard he'd always had as he continued to walk towards the light, the only thing in the miasmic, swirling nothing he left behind with every step. Somehow every step felt like it took hours, the air was becoming thicker and thicker until his lungs felt like they were two sacks of water and his vision became hazy all the while the lamppost still shone.
Only now it was finally closer and a figure was pacing within the small confines of its glow.
A hauntingly familiar figure, one he hadn't seen since they buried him - closed casket of course.
And there he thought caving the bastard's head in would delay everything, give him time to run.
There was nothing but time now.
Time and the dead man waiting for him.
If only he could make it to that damned light.
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