It was dark.

...

Only a second before,
Clayton was in the hospital bed, muscles idle, eyes shut peacefully.

But now,
he was sitting up and he was gripping the sheets, breathing loudly.

...

A burst of empty, thoughtless energy had been injected into his brain.

There was no other explanation.

He glanced around with wide eyes.

Yes, it was dark in the hospital room.

...

He studied the texture of the walls and the crumples in the blanket.

Fluorescent lights shined upon shiny surfaces.

But this room was small. The lights were dim.

It was dark outside the window.

Familiar.

...

He stared at the corner of the ceiling.

This corner was colorless. Just shadowy white paint.

...

There were no thoughts in his head for the next minute.

A minute is a long time to be seeing and hearing, but not thinking.

...

Clayton blinked.

Something snapped.

His mouth dropped a little.

A chain of memories
struck him,
exploding like firecrackers inside his skull,
one by one by one.

...

A plane,
rows of restaurants,
an impossibly black night,
huge windows.

A gray basement,
buzzing yellow lights,
a white bathtub,
a mirror,
a wooden door,
a couch with a blanket,
a monitor with a tiny flashing red light,
stories on the internet,
the feeling of uneasiness.

Sleep,
orange sunrises,
white days,
orange sunsets,
black nights.

Bright days,
rainy days,
fall,
winter,
spring,
summer.

Again,
again,
again.

A duel,
headphones,
pressing keys while making small talk,
editing a number,
breathing in the night,
clearing his throat during a stream,
talking with his friends,
a ping,
accusations,
pressing blue buttons,
pacing back and forth.

A headset in an office building,
yawning,
lukewarm bathwater,
recording a song,
tapping his phone keyboard,
climbing up a marble staircase,
golden doorknobs,
promising to change.

Clocks.

Lime-flavored sparkling water.

A phone waiting to be turned on.

A huge house painted green on the outside,
blinding sunshine,
gasping for breath,
opening a window,
red, slippery, slanted rooftop tiles.

Falling.

A plane in the sky.

...

I'm back.

His brain had been flooded
by grief and relief and something else,
all merged into one dark and colorful emotion.

...

Clayton's eyes were still wide.

The hospital room was still gloomy and silent.

He started to shiver as he put his head in his hands.

The five-sided cardboard box around his brain started to burn down.

...

He realized there was more to it than subscribers, speedruns, and other silly numbers.

I really am lucky.