The darkness and myself. Everything else was gone. And the little that was left of me was going, faster and faster.

The line compresses a classic Jim Thompson motif—psychological disintegration rendered as physical sensation. “Darkness” functions both literally (a scene of obscurity, unconsciousness, or night) and morally (the narrator’s immersion in guilt, violence, or nihilism). The speaker’s inventory of what remains—only darkness and the self—suggests radical isolation, as if the world has been stripped away. The final clause (“the little that was left of me was going, faster and faster”) depicts identity as something eroding under pressure: fear, pain, intoxication, or the consequences of one’s own actions. It’s a noir interior monologue in which selfhood collapses into void.