Result

Opening his eyes felt like peeling open the pages of a long-neglected book, the effort sending a jolt of discomfort through Peter's senses. It was as though his body had been reduced to ashes, and his mouth, a tattered and parched wasteland. He had the unsettling sensation that his teeth had abandoned their posts in his gums, and his tongue had become a phantom limb, a mere memory of its former self. Yet, for all the disorientation, Peter was grateful to be alive, even if the notion of being fine remained a distant prospect.

His surroundings revealed themselves gradually, painting a picture of a sterile hospital room, where the color white reigned supreme, as pure and pristine as freshly fallen snow. A desk nestled in the corner held a computer, and an assortment of pills were lined up on its surface. Peter lay in a bed, his arms and legs encased in bandages, a sight that left him with a torrent of questions.