Cold air nipped at his bare exposed back when someone rolled him over to lay on his chest. The next thing he felt were fingers gently prodding the stab wound. It hurt. Everything hurt.
He was trapped on the precarious ledge between sopor and wakefulness. It was as though his eyes were sewn shut with wire and his limbs no more than dead weight. He was laid on a table, its hardness digging into his aching flesh. The voices around him were muffled as though stuck underwater.
He felt several hands touching him, holding him down. Someone pressed something on his wound. Pain, white hot and all consuming, washed over him. He couldn't even scream before immediately being plunged back into the bleak nothingness.
