Guardian by Gregory Harvey

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There wasn't a cloud in the sky, yet it was as if the sun was permanently behind one. The entire world was becoming not dark, but dull. The observation only increased his speed.
The next destination took Thomas through a sprawl of a residential area. Erratic streets built on not steep but still bothersome hills, made it a difficult trek moving at his speed. His mind kept insisting for him to slow down. He would probably kill himself at this rate, but Thomas no longer cared. The permanents... he had to save them. He never paused for a second to consider how idiotic that sounded...
The crumbling, abandoned house, with its high A-frame roof, stood above all the others. It was positioned on the corner of two streets, as if standing sentinel over something. Thomas thought it a distinct possibility that he was the only man alive who actually knew what it was standing sentinel over. A worn pair of old gardening gloves. They were the third permanent. Thomas continued to race against time, but even as he approached the building he knew it was too late.
Looking into the backyard he could see only yellowing, knee-height grass. The gloves should have been sitting, folded over one another as they had been for the last ten years, in front of the stairs leading up to the multiple-story building. They were no where to be seen and, furthermore, the place where they should have been was shimmering. Probably, undetectable if you weren't looking for it, the air itself seemed to be vibrating. Thomas had no time to wonder, however, he had to get to the next permanent. Before it too was taken.
Thomas crossed the road, half expecting to be hit by a car as he did so as what had happened back in the park was still firmly on his mind. After moving a few hurried steps down the path, Thomas became aware of a growling off to his right. It was a dog, a big dog. He turned to see the mutt, behind a flimsy mesh fence, bounding towards him. Its teeth was bared and the animal was emitting an unholy gargling sound.
Thomas' heart slammed against his lungs as the mutt... the beast... slammed against the house's fence. Miraculously (there was no better word for it) the fence held. Thomas, not looking back at the dog, continued on his way. No more distractions, he told himself. It was evident that there was something trying to slow him down... or worse...
As he left the street with the abandoned house on it, the world around Thomas seemed to turn another shade duller. It was as if the colour was being drained away slowly. How was it possible that no one else was noticing this? The people in their cars just seemed to zoom by, although some took a moment to glance at Thomas' muddied clothes, without noticing a thing. Perhaps, Thomas thought, perhaps none of this was actually happening. Perhaps senility had finally taken its hold... Rubbish. He was a sane as he ever was.
The next permanent along his route was the one that Thomas regarded as the most important. He didn't know why. Probably because it was the most difficult to get to.