Scribble: To be expanded into something called "The Immortal."

      With each footstep he took, the trees behind him blossomed, only to give way to leaves that grew and fell in a heartbeat, leaving bare branches to blossom once more. As branches creaked and dripped with dew, depressions left by footsteps soon gave way to moss, then grass, only to wither away and disappear under snow, again and again, gradually hiding any hint of a path. Yet, ahead of him, the path remained clear, the trees still budding with the kiss of spring, and all seemed perfectly still.
      Is this what forever is like? he thought, as ancient eyes drifted along the road ahead.
      He looked at his soft, ageless hands, stopping long enough to be buried beneath snow that would melt away each second. No longer could he feel the cold of winter or warmth of summer's sun; only his sight could tell him of the season's constant shift. Looking into the air, all he could see was the rich blue of a thousand days and nights at once, merging into the richest color he'd ever known.
      "Almost as beautiful as her eyes," he whispered, lost in the wind, as moss slowly overtook his legs. "Almost..."

Scribble: Battle no more, ye weary traveler.

      Worn, weary, her armor dented and broken, she stood, gazing out over the golden fields before her. Her auburn hair dancing in the breeze, the knight pulled the tatters of her cloak ever tighter, unwilling, or far too afraid, to release her grip on the chipped, streaked blade clenched in her hand. Above her head, wooden branches, yet to be barren of their leaves, creaked with the wind's gentle footsteps, as unseen birds escaped to safer homes.
      In the distance, clouds began to part, as the golden fields shimmered in the coming light. Far off in the distance, the barking of farming dogs ushered-in the new day, heralds to the sounds of sickles and scythes soon to come.
      A single tear rolled down her scarred and sun-kissed cheek. Home, she thought, a weak smile slipping onto her face.
      The battered sword fell to the ground, a sharp metal clang drowned-out by the new day's birth...

"Distance"

      it keeps going, punching keys despite the static swirling over the screen.
      every line dead. nothing to be said of the other operators.
      with unblinking eye, it keeps typing, a breathless "no" repeating in echo...

Scribble: Strangely, this mightn't be an apocalyptic scenario.

      Perched at the dials, his eyes peered through cigarette smoke at the numbers flashing across the display.
      Static. Electric hailstones pounding the speakers. Every so often, silence.
      Taking note of whatever number appeared on the screen, his skeletal hand raised a dusty microphone to his lips, just as the swinging lamp overhead began to flicker.
      "Come in, come in, this is . . . is anyone out there? Come in, come in . . ."
      His voice, coated in a thick layer of dust, started to give-out. Down to the filter, the cigarette let out one final puff of smoke.
      "Come in, come in . . ."