This is a short (very short) idea I had whilst in a raging bad mood. More an exercise in mood and language than actual storytelling. I’m not sure whether this will become an ongoing feature or not. Depends on my bad moods and any ideas they generate.
He walks with the sun. Never stopping, never resting, never tired. He walks across the desert, casting no shadow. The sand lies unbroken by his heavy black boots. Travelling east to west, before him lies the remains of the day, behind him, a terrible empty night. The moon obscured by the suffocating blackness, the stars hiding, as if they are afraid to show themselves in his wake.
He walks to the beat of his drum. Gathering followers, they trudge along behind him, never aware of their course, or even their destination. Barely aware they are walking at all. They are walking for what feels like infinity. They walk through fields, canyons, cities. All the while, his monstrous drum fills the echoing silence. More and more, people are hypnotised into following, a legion of the damned cutting a swathe across the landscape. Hundreds die of exhaustion. His opening volley.
He does not stop walking. Even the vast ocean is no obstacle, his boots pass over the water as if it were solid ground. The last of his legion attempt to follow and all drown in the tumultuous sea. The sun directly above him begins to fade as he nears the end of his quest.
He walks without the sun. The light is extinguished, his mission complete. The last of humanity died in the dark. Killed by their fear, killed by each other. No judgement, no angels, no trumpets. Just the silent executioner and his drum. The drumming fills the empty void of night with its cacophonous roar. He walks the dead world until the end. He is the Herald of the night. The apocalypse follows in his stead.