A whitewashed house stands on the edge of nowhere, marking the transitory division between the world and the apocalypse. The city sprawls out as always behind the house. In front, lies only sand. Deep, orange sand swirling in the tormented breeze. Slowly encroaching ready to cover the world.
The sun shines more brightly than ever recorded, a fluorescent quality surrounds the sphere. The heat is intense. Lizards run from the dessert to the town, scratching at windows and doors to gain shelter from the heat; or so they say. They are not to be trusted. Windows are fastened and houses secured, but for how long will these refuges be safe? There is no hiding place when the time has come.