It was warm like my parents' hug and it was calming. The white room was very cozy as if someone had taken all of my weight at once. It was nice in there, I loved the quietness. I might as well get used to this quietness more. This was what Death felt like, comfortable and warm.
"This should do it!" A needle stabbed me in the neck.
The quiet room was no more. It got replaced by a dark abyss. I hadn't died yet. I was very sure that I died once I hanged myself on the ceiling. There must be someone that cut the rope. I opened my eyes slowly.
I was in my room. The soft pillow was on my head. The mattress was very soft. There was also this figure, standing tall with his M4 on his hands.
"I know I shouldn't be leaving a mentally unstable cinnamon roll behind," the same man that I saw on the hospital said.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
