When I opened my eyes, there was an incandescent light above my head.
The kind of light tubes used only in hospital morgues are cold and white, illuminating the whole room like an ice cellar. I lay on the stainless steel countertop, with the back of my head touching the cold metal plate, feeling like every joint in my body was rusty.
Moved his fingers.
Active.
He sat up with his hands on the table, looked down and saw a gash on his chest, from his left collarbone to his right waist. The opened flesh was a strange gray-white color and there was no blood. I reached out and touched it, and felt a cold touch on my fingertips, like touching a piece of pork that had been frozen for a long time.
I'm dead.