Bare Tree. Springs out like a dead hand from Nowhere on a piece of parched land, stretching, aching from never-ending spells of gloom. Wind dies slowly and painfully, reduced now to whispering wheezes. Boiling Sun floats in red grime, flaring up at angry intervals of rage with killing heat.
Space stretches into tortured elastic between parting tracks. Snaps. Shoots into space, falls down, trembling like a dying lizard's tail, limp, pathetic.
Tiny seeds like Blackness fall off Bare Tree, spiraling with mad frenzy, spitting out Distance with no horizon, separated from the beginning by light years.