It was like trying to swim with weights tied to your ankles: far too tempting to just sink to the bottom, tired and exhausted from trying, but he is so close to breaking through, there is a safety line just there. He could feel his fingers brush against it.
He grabbed the rope and pulled himself up, through the surface and into a blurry, bright world of whites and pastel blues, with air so sterile it hurt to breathe. He blinked slowly against the intrusive light, scrunching his eyes shut, and tried to raise his hands to shield against it, but he couldn't move them. He was so tired and his limbs so heavy; even breathing was hard—something heavy weighed down on his chest, making breathing in the too-thick air even harder while his heart pushed the near sludge through his veins.
It was horrible, why had he tried so hard to get here? Here where the world sounded wrong, but he couldn't quite grasp why. It felt wrong too, but again, he couldn't say how.
A soft tapping on his shoulder made him open his eyes, and he was greeted to a blur in the shape of a person. He couldn't really see them, but they were smiling, obnoxiously happy about everything. He could feel it. He groaned and shut his eyes again; he couldn't be bothered with them, he wanted to go back to sleep. He wanted to get back in that water and sink, he regretted this already. Everything was a mess, his memories and thoughts scrambled by a fog, and he was so tired. Trying to arrange things was so much work—too much work.
He was being tapped again. He wanted to punch that person and their stupid, unfounded happiness, it was infuriating. With too much effort, he looked at the face, forcing his eyes to focus, discovering the face belonged to a rather plain-looking woman in a horrible pale green uniform. She was smiling and talking, but he couldn't hear her.
He couldn't hear anything.
He turned back to his memories, desperately searching through that fog for answers, answers he knew he didn't want but needed.