I woke up drowning in mud.
Not literally, unfortunately.
Literal drowning might've been a mercy. Instead, I was stuck in that delightful in-between state where my face was mashed into cold sludge, my mouth tasted like rotten leaves, and my ears rang so hard it felt like someone had stuffed church bells into my skull and then enthusiastically beaten them with a mallet.
Black spots flickered across my vision in dizzy little constellations. I tried to push myself up. My elbows buckled instantly.
I went down face-first again.
The mud made an undignified splap against my cheek.
I deserved it.
After about three seconds of lying there like the world's saddest corpse, I made the executive decision that standing was, in fact, wildly overrated and not for me.
So I rolled onto my side instead, my body protesting every movement like I owed it money.
