You open your eyes slowly, blinking into the light. It is very bright. Uncomfortably so. Is this heaven? They could stand to turn it down a notch.
Wait – no – there’s [person>select>someone you dislike]. There is no way that scumbag made it to heaven! Come to think of it, you did steal that [item>select>pack of erasers] once. Oh gods, is this hell?!
Wait – the surroundings are coming into focus, and that bright light is a fluorescent ceiling light, enhanced by white walls and the overall sterile atmosphere of a hospital. Because you are in a hospital.
“Goodness gracious!” you yelp. “What happened?”
“Oh no, [s/he]’s awake!” moans that person you figured was hellbound, confirming your theory. Why is s/he even in your hospital room? “I was hoping today was the day I would watch you flatline,” s/he sighs, before your [person>select>parent] shoves [him/her/it] out of the room angrily.
“You!!!” your parent weeps joyfully. “You’ve finally woken up from your coma!”
“I was in a coma?” you say. “I don’t remember that.”
“Well, you were comatose,” I say reasonably.
“You!” you gasp, pointing at me.
“No, you’re You,” I remind you. “I’m just the humble narrator. The brilliantly kind and humble narrator. Wow, I’m just too humble. I’m so humble I probably think that song in Popstar is about me!”
“What’s Popstar?” you moan. “What year is it?”
“You’ve missed a few cool things,” I admit. “Mainly Popstar and [that other one]. Actually you’re all caught up. There haven’t been that many good movies.”
“What happened? Why was I in a coma?” you moan. What a moaner. It’s just a little coma, toughen up!
“Oh, speaking of moaning, Moana! That was a good movie too. I don’t mean to say there was much moaning in Moana, rather phonetically it jogged my memory.”
“You attempted to jog, remember?” your parent says sadly. “You kept trying to be healthy, and it was nearly the death of you!”
“Wait… I remember this… I went on walk and it went so badly I became a recluse…”
“Not really,” I mutter.
“And then I attempted to jog… but the weather was bad… but then I attempted again… and pulled a muscle… in my calves!”
“Both our calves,” I sigh, massaging my calves.
“And then… I went on the treadmill…”
“Let me tell this story!” I interrupt. “I’m so much better at talking about you! See, you went on the treadmill, and, wanting to make up for lost time and a completely sedentary lifestyle, you cranked the speed all the way up to 11.”
“To get it over with faster!” you remember illogically. “And to burn more carbolies!”
“Carlories,” I correct you incorrectly. “Yes!”
“Do you remember what happened after that?” your parent asks anxiously.
“Not really. Did I burn all the cardicals?”
“Kind of,” I said. “You went careening off the treadmill into the wall, hit your head and blacked out for a shockingly long time.”
“Yes, well, look how much weight I lost!” you say, smirking proudly over the success of your all-IV diet. “Clearly I was right about the treadmill!”
“Yes, but your calves are still a hot mess. Also you have no muscle tone.”
“No problem,” you say. “I’ll just lift weights. I’m pretty behind so I’ll probably start with, like, 200 lbs, and lift those right over my head.”
Your parent and I exchange worried looks.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” I assure [her/him/other].
Welcome back, you!