His eyelids were as heavy as lead.
No, it's not "like", it's "just". I could clearly feel that my eyelids were sealed by some kind of cold solution, and even my eyelashes solidified into icicles.
I tried desperately to open my eyes, but there was only one thought in my mind - wasn't I fucking dead?
Wait, I am indeed dead. I clearly remember that on the way back to the rental house after working overtime that day, I lowered my head and responded to a WeChat message from my boss. Then the world started spinning and the harsh sound of brakes came to my ears. The final image is a close-up of the tire running over me, and the panicked scream of a passerby shouting "We've hit someone."
The underworld won't accept the dead ghosts? Or have I done too many evil things and gone to the eighteenth level of hell?
There was a cold feeling on my wrist, and someone was feeling my pulse.
