Most people drift slowly and gently into consciousness. Not me. I jolted awake, gasping for air, and scrambled to my feet to try and call an ambulance for myself.
As I stood up, I noticed the marble floors that definitely weren't from my dusty little kitchen, and then I saw the four figures standing in front of me. Being me, I just stood there staring at them before the one on the left (a seven-foot-tall blonde dude with a physique that would make Dwayne Johnson look like a pebble) asked, in a strangely soothing voice, "Are you alright, David?". I nod, still utterly terrified and very confused. "Who are you?" I ask, quickly followed by "Where am I?" and "How do you know my name?"
He smiles and replies "I am Baldour, Norse god of beauty." points to an older man (still tall and built like Arnold Schwarteneger on steroids, but this time with shoulder length white hair and a golden eye patch) "He is Odin". Baldour the points to the other two and says "the blonde one is Thor and the greasy-haired one in the green-and-black cloak is Loki". I stand there, still confused and terrified, while Loki gives Baldour a look that could probably kill and hisses " My hair wouldn't be so damn greasy if you didn't keep stealing MY shampoo!". Odin waves his hand at Baldour and Loki, imploring them to shut up.
Odin looks at me with one piercing blue eye and asks "What is the name of this utensil you carry?". I look down at my left hand. I was gripping a bright pink spatula. As I looked at it, my memory slowly came back to me and I saw how I had died.
I was making pancakes. Frozen ones from the supermarket because I can't cook. Everything was going normally, until my side of the dorm room's door got busted in, and a bloke in a ski mask with a handgun came running through the door, yelling about my flatmate. It turns out that Steve really was a wrong un' after all.
This dude, presumably, was a drug dealer who'd been cheated out of cash by Steve. Now, the only flaw in his plan to mug Steve was that I was not, in fact, Steve.
When confronted with an angry drug dealer waving a gun, I'd like to say that I remained calm and composed. I did not. I screamed and threw a spatula at him. Needless to say, it didn't work.
He shot me.
I looked up at Odin and said "It's a spatula. I use it for... well, making pancakes". He looks at me sternly and asks "Is it a weapon?"