The fog was everywhere. Milky white, curling away from his face and body as he moved through it, only to snap shut behind him. He spun fully around, searching the thick blanket of white in vain for any landmarks, any features. The ground felt soft, spongy and slightly damp under his bare soles.

“Where am I?” He croaked for the thousandth time, out of breath. Had he been running for hours, days? Years?

Heaven? Hell? He shook his head violently and took off running again, until he collapsed, heaving for breath on hands and knees. Purgatory? This last seemed most likely. What other fate could there be for a man of his crimes?

His crimes? He sat back on his heels and looked up. There was no suggestion of a sun above the pall of fog, just a paler smear of white above.

What crimes? What have I done? Oh god, what have I done?

A ghost of memory tickled the back of his mind. The sense of an impending revelation. It was gone, and he was left in the dark, alone.

And then the fog darkened, faded, and he died.