The End of Everything
A dying world still has today
Their feet crunched through the ash. The sound transported Laszlo back to autumn leaves thick on the ground, red, orange, and gold embers of a burned-out summer, only this stuff had fallen black and cold from crumbling limbs, and anyway, it was only spring.
They came prepared, of course. They wore hats, goggles, gloves, boots. Their faces were…