He woke up in a daze. From what he could tell, he was riding in an ambulance but he wasn't sure why. He saw blurred images of paramedics. One was trying to talk to him but he couldn't make out what the man was trying to say. All he could hear was the ringing in his ears then silence as his eyes closed once again and he faded back into sleep.
He doesn't wake up again for a few hours. When he does, his vision is still blurred slightly but it's better than before. He can feel someone holding his hand. He feels that his head is much too heavy to turn to see who holds his hand. He tries to say something. His throat is too dry and he can't seem to open his mouth. He closes his eyes, planning to open them again right after but everything goes dark and he's back asleep. He dreams of himself walking in a field. Grass spreads as far as the eye can see. He walks, seeming to see no end to this field but persistently continues on. He sees a figure in the distance so he heads toward it.. When he gets to the figure, he sees it's a being. The figure is cloaked in a black robe having the hood pulled so you can't distinguish his face. Again, he tries to say something but his throat seems too dry. The figure turns to him and bends its elbows, as if wanting to embrace him. He doesn't move, trying to peer into the figures hooded face. In an instant, he's shoved backwards by the outstretched arms. He sees the figure's hands and is horrified to see that they are nearly skeletal as if they are only skin and bone. Expecting to fall into the grass after being shoved, he gasped in disgust. Immediately, his lungs fill with liquid. He realizes the field as vanished and he is now in the ocean. He tries to gasp for air and swim to the surface to no avail. He sinks to the bottom, passed out from lack of oxygen. In the next instant he awakes, remaining in this dream state, and he's on the shore. The figure from before is now over him, wielding a scythe in it's clenched hand. He looks up into the figure's hooded face, again trying to distinguish any humanly facial features. Unlike before, the figure now has two ghostly orbs of light in place where it's eyes should be. The orbs give off a subtle glow, illuminating the area around them. The figure has sunken sockets and bandaging around it's head, covering where a nose no longer protrudes. It has cracked, bleeding lips and a grim smile. The figure puts the scythe to the man's throat. It is then that he realizes he is looking over the cloaked figure and his lifeless body. The figure smiles its most grim smile, it's orbs illuminating it's rotted teeth. The scythe is swung down towards the man's chest.
He gasps for air, abruptly awakening in reality. He is panicked and shaking. Whomever held his hand once before is now gone. He feels that his heart is racing and he's hooked up to several machines. The figure from his nightmare steps into his hospital room. The figure is dressed in a doctor's uniform with a mask over his face. He does have a nose, one that's crooked from an accident and he does have eyes, icy blue eyes sunken slightly from sleep deprivation. He tries to get up and run but comes to realize his hands and feet are strapped to the bed. He then tries to scream for help but no sound will come. The door is closed by the figure before it approaches him. His body trembles as a sedative is pumped into his bloodstream by an IV the figure has put in his arm. He quickly is asleep.
When he awakes this time, his clothes are stripped away and he is now strapped to an operating table. The figure is stroking the man's hair. He can feel a chill run up his spine, knowing the figure is grinning with that grim smile as he sees the man has awaken. The figure moves so he's positioned between the man's legs then uses a marker to make dotted lines on the man's chest. Marking a line down the from about mid chest then one across, hip to hip, and lastly one from underarm to underarm. The figure slides gloves over it's hands then looks at his layed out tools, deciding which to use first. The man can turn his head slightly, enough to see the tools. There are scalpels of various sizes, forceps, clamps, needles, and too many kinds of scissors to even count. The figure selects a scalpel then turns to the man and grins once again. The man fainted and hours later, the figure removes his gloves. It finally speaks.
It has a thick Russian accent, "Time of death; Eleven thirty-five P.M. September nineteenth, Two-thousand fifteen."
