When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw wasn't a magnificent ceiling made of bone or an infinite void. No, directly above me was a cracked, damp-smelling white concrete slab that screamed, "I haven't seen a coat of paint since 1990."
My mouth?
It felt as if I'd swallowed a handful of sand from a construction site and chased it with a shot of ash. The regal voice I used to command the heavens and earth was gone; in its place was nothing but a raspy, desperate wheeze for water.
"She's awake! Oh God, she's finally awake!"
