“I died last night. I have no recollection of the accident that killed me, if there actually was one, but I died. Of that I’m sure.
I can feel the cold, smooth table underneath my bare bum and back. I can feel my hair, wet, some of it sticking to my forehead and a sheet covering my entire naked body. I don’t know how but I can feel this.
It’s cold in the white-tiled room, dimly lit with neon blue lights. I can see a row of small windows on the far wall. I’m in a basement. And I can hear the odd car driving through light rain, treading softly on the wet pavement outside. It’s night.”
Sharon D. Mertins 