Pain.
His whole body felt as if he had been run over by wheels, with acid water coming out from the seams in his bones.
I opened my eyes and it was pitch black.
He stretched out his hand and touched around. There were hard wooden boards, a small and cramped space, and the wooden board cover was less than ten centimeters above his head.
What's going on?
My mind was still dizzy, and my memories were pieced together intermittently: working overtime, staying up late, changing the plan, going to tea instead of coffee, and then... And then what?
By the way, I stepped on a water stain on the ground, stumbled forward, and hit the back of my head on the corner of the water dispenser.
That's it?
I am a social worker who graduated in 985, and I was just sent away by a broken water dispenser?
No, where am I now?
He reached out and pushed hard on the wooden board above his head, but it didn't move. The air is getting stuffier and stuffier, with a moist earthy smell and a faint... Rotten smell.
This smell is familiar to me. It was the smell when my grandma passed away last time and opened the coffin to say her final goodbyes.
I froze.
No way?
