My Last Supper

T W E L V E

I studied the fluorescent lights as the nurse wheeled me to another room to get some more tests done. Honestly, I had already made peace with the concept of mortality, so at this point I didn't give a shit what happened. If I die, I die. I'd just be glad to die here rather than with the fucking circus that group called a band.

We entered the room, and the nurse immediately parked my gurney and left, telling me that the doctor will be right in to look at some of my scans. She then turned the lights off and left?

"Wait- what the fuck-" I tried to stop her, but she literally just left, and I was no where near able to stand up by myself to turn the lights back on. Did she mean to do that? "Uh hello? Can someone come in here?"
Literally no response. What kind of sick joke is this?

"Cut the cameras," I said mostly to myself. I thought it was funny at the time.

"You got it!" And out came a smiling Ashton Kucther, co-creator of hit TV-show Punk'd, from behind the curtains. It was just him with one camera.

"What in the fresh fuck?"

"You've been PUNK'D!"

"Yes I see that? I'm in the fucking hospital?"

"You've been PUNK'D!"

"Can you turn the lights on?"

"You've been PUNK'D!"

"Alright-" I tried to stand up, not in an effort to turn the lights back on and get the fuck out of here, but rather to smash any object I could grasp right under his jaw until this man was unrecognizable. I wanted to fucking curb stomp him. I wanted to throw him out of a moving plane into an ocean, watch him get admitted to the ER, wait a few hours until he is lucid and is able to get some tests done, sneak into the room where he'll get his results, turn the lights off, and when he's scared and confused, jump out and reveal that he's been PUNK'D!, but say so repeatedly while I slam his third-degree-burnt face into one of the monitors over and over-

"Excuse me, Miss Kunt? Can you hear me?"

I blinked a few times, slowly returning to reality.

However, I was not in the same reality.

I took in my surroundings, and saw that I was on my living room couch, my concerned mother peering over a paramedic's shoulder.

"Wait, I'm home? How did I get here?" I mumbled.

The paramedic gave a concerning look to my mother and turned back.

"Katherine, you were experiencing what's known as sleep paralysis while in a semi-lucid dream-like state while sleeping, but while also paralyzed and dreaming, but semi-lucid and paralyzed."

"So none of it was real?"

She gave me a sad smile. "No, you stupid fuck."

Oh.

"It's likely this happened due to your severe case of trench foot," she said, pointing to my gangrenous stump of a foot. How the fuck did that happen? "You've gotta stay out of those trenches, sweetie. Here, this will help for that," she said, handing me a nondescript bottle of pills. Are paramedics supposed to-

She then nodded at my mother and left.

I looked at my mother and then back at the door, and then back at my mother, and then at my rotting foot.

My mother snorted and walked upstairs, muttering "stupid fuck" under her breath.

Although I was relieved to realize I was never kidnapped by 5 Seconds of Solitude and thrown out of the plane into the ocean, I couldn't shake the eerie feeling that it all somehow did happen.

I still don't know how I have trench foot.

After limping upstairs to rest, to actually get some real sleep, I fell into my bed and began to close my eyes. As I was drifting off into sleep however, I could've sworn I saw the bone-chilling smile of Krusty behind my window.