This is what the end looks like.
Outside, the world was white. Snow was falling softly on the ground, like airy, wisps of clouds.
And then silence. A silence, a roaring, rushing, mad silence deafened his ears.
White. White, white, snow white all around him, blinding his eyes with the whiteness and the brightness.
This is the end.
No fiery hell, no screaming, no tearing of hair, no smoke, no darkness, no riotous madness.
Just white, white, madly white.
This was not what he thought the end looked like.
And then, a ripple.
He did not see it, hear it, nor feel it. He was numb and cold from the poisonous pale purity around him.
He could not even think. He stood there, calm and cool, waiting patiently for the end, for the whiteness to descend on him and devour him until he existed no more.
Ice, not tears, fell from the corner of his eye. Ice, not blood, filled his veins. Ice gripped his heart and mind and soul as he slowly froze to death.
And then, a ripple. And then, a soft whisper. And then, a loud scream.
And then, there was warmth.
What was it? Who was it?