Apple

The tree.

He ignored the burning in his legs, he had to carry on. As ominous shadows swallowed up the world, he willed his legs to keep running, but there was nowhere to go. There was nothing he could do except run, and prolong the inevitable.

He ran across the streets under the dim streetlights, knowing that he would never be safe. Dark shadows followed closely behind him, and there was no way out. Yet his feet took him to an old crooked tree, bearing tiny, sour apples. He reached up and weakly pulled a fruit from its branch, then promptly collapsed from exhaustion. He hugged the ancient tree, pressing his face into a carving in the trunk. The figures closed in, but he had a strange satisfaction.

He was back where he met his lost love.