The decaying rays of a dying sun sear the windswept and time worn street. The empty shells of old buildings still line the sides, their broken and darkened windows leering out onto the street as if in contempt of those dark alleys and cracked flagstones. A dry searing wind sweeps across the burnt tar and stone, and a noxious fume rises from the surface. The rusted remains of ancient vehicles litter the street amidst other derbis.
The suns rays are fading now, and the whole of the street seems to quiver, as though dreading the darkness that steadily encroaches. Distant scratching, and the low moan of the wind are the only sounds now, and ever still those damnable windows stare on, seeming to mourn the loss of happier times.
And as the final rays of the dead sun wink out, the wind picks up, its moan crescendoing into a forlorn howl. In the distance, the sobbing of a child can be heard, and then, nothing.
