“I don’t know...”
“Well, I hate to rush you, but you might want to decide before someone discovers your dead body. It could cause you problems if people find it before you come back to life.”
“I haven’t said yes, yet...”
“I’m aware. Please decide. I’m impatient.”
“A-alright... I’ll give it a shot. It can’t be much worse...”
“Excellent. I’ll get right to it, then.”
“...What’re you gonna do?”
“Just hold on. This might be a little jarring.”
“Hold on? To what? There’s nothing here... What the...? Whoa!”
Hector awoke with a cringe. A bolt of pain ran through him, but it vanished after a moment. He blinked away the haze in his vision and sat up.
It was the bathroom, he saw, remembering. This was where he had died, in this little, not-so-white-tiled bathroom. At least, that’s what he thought. Obviously, he wasn’t dead.
The fan in the ceiling buzzed, still, just as before. He remembered that sound, remembered thinking about how it would be the last thing he ever heard, remembered how it had made him feel all the more pitiful in his final moments.
But now, hearing the sound again, the droning hum, he wasn’t sure what to think. It seemed almost like a different noise even though he knew it hadn’t changed.
His shirt was wet, Hector realized, and he looked down at the crimson stains in its thin white cloth. He stood and saw the floor, a pool of his own blood.
He scratched his head. “Huh...”
A mirror greeted him next, his face reflected through a slight cloud of soapy fog. Everything looked the same. The black skin, the shaved head, the somber brown gaze--all his. Somehow, part of him expected to see someone else. Part of him wanted to.