It took me a moment to collect my thoughts. Upon painfully regaining consciousness, I quickly noted three things. First, I was staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Second, a rather grim looking old man was standing over me, surveying me disapprovingly. Third, and most importantly, I tasted pennies.

Wait, not pennies, blood.

“No one ever listens. When you’re quite done lounging, I’ll take you to see Mr. Herman,” the old man said, and promptly left the room. He said lounging as though I had decided to lie down and relax, as opposed to what actually happened, which was…fuzzy. I stood awkwardly, like a boxer who had taken one too many to the jaw. I stumbled over to the trashcan and spit, trying to get the taste of so many nosebleeds out of my mouth. The can clinked loudly.

“No,” I whispered disbelievingly. I ran my tongue along my bottom row of teeth and felt a conspicuous new hole. I’d never wanted a mirror so much in my entire life. I spun around, but the only glass in the room was the timeclock face.